


Fate Shows You The Door

by mchicken



Category: The Streets of San Francisco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-20 22:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 45,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16564190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mchicken/pseuds/mchicken
Summary: Set in 2016, Steve looks back on the only case he and Mike failed to solve.





	1. Chapter 1

__

He sat looking around the office he had occupied for the better part of 40 years. Most of his things had been packed up by his teaching assistants, but he had yet to tackle his desk and the credenza directly behind it. His minions, as he jokingly called them after seeing a movie with his youngest granddaughter, knew better than to touch the holy of holies of his office.

When he made the decision to retire at the end of the current school year, Steve figured he would have plenty of time to sort through the detritus of his academic career. Yet here he was, still so much to do with only a week left in the semester. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There was no avoiding it now.

More than two generations of Berkeley students had passed through his classroom during his years in academia. Although still fit and vigorous at 72, it was truly a wake-up call when a student shared the fact that Dr. Keller had taught his  _grandmother_  as an undergrad. It was as if fate had shown him the door. Where had all the time gone?

Criminology had changed dramatically in the years since he left the streets. DNA, CCTV, CODIS, AFIS and a litany of alphabet soup applications continued to make law enforcement more science than art. Hell, he could find out more information in five minutes on  _Google_  than he could in a lifetime of old school investigation. He tried to keep up with all the newest technology, but he had to admit, it was getting harder every day. Funny, when he first joined the force he was the hot shot college boy, the best and the brightest of the new breed of cop, but now he felt like his view of police work was closer to  _Dragnet_  than _CSI_.

He picked up a black and white photo in a silver frame. They were all gone now. Sekulovitch was first, but over the years one by one they all slipped away. Tanner, Lessing, Healey, Devitt, Olsen. Haseejian was the last. Steve had thought Norm would live forever as the dirty old man of Leisure World*, but even the sturdy Armenian had succumbed to the march of time almost a year ago. Steve slipped the frame in the box and continued on to the next photo.

He gazed lovingly at his favorite picture of him and his onetime partner with the Golden Gate in the background. It had been almost 7 years since Mike died peacefully in his sleep at the ripe old age of 97. Steve's friendship with Mike Stone had turned out to be the most enduring relationships of his life. Certainly longer than his marriage, which ended in divorce over 30 years ago. Not one day had gone by since Mike's passing when Steve didn't miss his best friend. He gently swept his fingers across the glass protecting the image before placing it into the box. Could it really have been 46 years ago when they first met?

The insistent buzz of his cell phone pulled him back to the present. He laughed as he thought about how much time he had wasted looking for pay phones back in the day before he answered.

"Keller."

"Hey, Steve, I'm glad I caught you."

It had been a long time since he had heard that voice.

"Hey stranger, this is a surprise. How are you?"

"Good, really good. How about you?"

"Can't complain, just trying to get my office cleaned out."

"So you finally pulled the plug, huh?"

"Yeah, thought it was about time. So how are you and Jim enjoying retirement?"

"Busier than ever with volunteering, the grandkids and travel. Had I known retirement was going to be this much fun, I would have done it years ago."

"That's great, so what's up?"

"Do I need an excuse to talk to an old friend?"

"Of course not, but it's been a while." Since Mike's death, they had barely been in contact, save the annual Christmas letter and a few odd phone calls.

The line was silent for a few beats before Jeannie Stone Parker continued.

"As it turns out, I'm in town. Finally decided to sell the old place. We've been renting it out since dad passed, but with the way real estate has taken off in this town, we are looking at a pretty good payday, even as old as the place is.** And honestly, I never liked being a landlord."

At the mention of the house, Steve was instantly transported to the kitchen table at DeHaro Street. Though he was sure the old furniture was gone, he would never think of it other than as it looked in the early 1970's. He fondly remembered the endless cups of coffee from the old Pyrex percolator while Jeannie tried to get his attention on the other end of the line.

"Earth to Steve, you still with me babe?"

"Sorry, just nostalgia catching up with me. Sad day when a Stone doesn't own 768 anymore."

"I know what you mean. Funny how attached we get to places, isn't it."

"Yeah, it sure is. Hey you and Jim want to grab a bite later?"

"Love to, but I'm flying solo this trip. Jim stayed in Phoenix."

Steve smiled. As much as he liked Jeannie husband of 31 years, it would be nice to have her to himself for one night.

"Where are you staying? I can pick you up around seven."

"Do me a favor, swing by the house, there is something I want to show you."

"Casa Stone, it is. At least I'll get a chance to say goodbye to the old place."

00000

Jeannie looked around the now denuded living room. When she had put the house up for rent 6 years ago, she had sold, trashed or packed and shipped most of the contents. With the tenants having moved out a little over three weeks ago, nothing was left, save a wall mirror, a few empty cardboard boxes and two folding chairs. Despite the emptiness, this was still "home." It didn't seem to matter that she had not lived there full time in over 30 years.  _The house you grew up in would always be home._  Her eyes misted.

The low grumble of a car out on the street caught her attention. She looked out the window to see a slim, silver haired man exit a sleek black Lexus. Steve and his cars, she thought. Didn't matter how old he got, he always had a cool ride.

She watched him jog up the steps, much like the old days. The new knees seemed to be working just fine. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, Jeannie glanced at the older woman staring back from the mirror and sighed. It didn't seem fair, he looked handsome and distinguished with his full head of wavy hair and neatly trimmed goatee. She just looked like someone's grandmother;  _hot grandmother yes_ she smirked, but a grandmother nonetheless.

The door opened before he even had a chance to knock. Jeannie stood and drank in the sight of one of her oldest friends.

"Steve, you look great as always."

She gathered him into a comfortable hug. They had known each other for what seemed like forever. Jeannie had been in high school when they first met. Now over forty years later, his eyes still held the same sparkle. She'd always had a crush on him, from the first time Mike brought him home. But ultimately they wound up as old, comfortable friends.

"You look terrific babe, younger than ever." Steve complimented as he released her embrace.

"You are a liar and a flirt, Steve Keller. You never change. But at my age, I'll take it."

He gave her a crooked grin. "Seriously Jeannie, you look great. How's Jim?"

"Super. He's playing in a golf tournament in Scottsdale. Gave me an excuse to come home."

Steve looked around the empty room. This house held the memories, good and bad, of more than half his life. Towards the end, he'd practically lived here full time, particularly when Jeannie couldn't leave her family. She'd wanted Mike to come and spend his final years with her in Arizona, but true to Mike's stubborn nature, he could never leave his beloved city by the bay. This was the first time he'd been in the house since the week after the funeral. God, how he missed Mike.

"It's a little overwhelming, isn't it?" Jeannie whispered.

"Yeah," Steve responded in an equally quiet tone. Not knowing how long he could stand being in the old house, he got right to the point. "So, what did you want me to see?"

Jeannie walked over to the stairs and picked up a dusty, brown banker's box. "I found this in the attic." She took one look at his startled face and quickly added, "And don't you dare say I'm too old to be climbing up to the attic. I just wanted to make sure I didn't miss anything. This was tucked under one of the rafters."

Steve brushed off some of the dust and opened the box. Inside were several file folders filled with what looked like copies of case and evidence reports, there was also a yellow legal tablet with notes clearly in Mike's hand. He flipped open the top file and gasped, "Well I'll be damned. He never gave up on this."

Jeannie was now even more curious. "What is it?"

Steve put the lid back on the box. "Come on and lock up, let's get out of here and I'll tell you all about it."

***Leisure World is a California-based "active" retirement community that opened in 1960 and is now called Laguna Woods.**

**** The 1220 square ft. (113.3 square meters) house at 768 DeHaro Street sold for $953,000.00 US dollars in 2015. It is currently valued at $1.2 million US. It was built in 1908. Real estate prices in San Francisco are nuts!**


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: This story is obviously going to contain sequences from the past. I will try to make it as clear as possible. If it's not, please let me know. Even though Steve is telling the story, I have dispensed with the quotation marks and first person narrative during the flash back sections, other than dialog between characters. When you see a date header and Italics, assume it's the past until you get to the 00000. Easy, right?** _

They settled into a booth at one of Steve's favorite out-of-the-way places in North Beach. Jeannie had suggested Mama's, for old time sake, and was dismayed when Steve told her they'd sold out to one of the chain restaurants that seemed to be everywhere these days.

After some Chianti, bruschetta and small talk, Steve placed a yellowed file folder on the table while they waited for their entrées. Jeannie snickered when he pulled a pair of reading glasses out of his jacket pocket.

"What the hell are you laughing at? I'm 72 years old." he said with humor coloring his voice.

"Nothing  _Doctor Keller_. It makes you look very scholarly!"

" _Sure_  it does. Do you want to know what this is about or not?"

"I'm sorry. Please I'm dying to know, continue."

Steve looked at Jeannie. The glint of excitement in her bright blue eyes was reminiscent of Mike's when he latched onto an interesting case. His voice wavered a little when he began to speak.

"We caught this case a while after Mike and I started working together. I think you were already at college. The murder actually took place a few blocks from here. It's the only one we never solved."

**September 11, 1972 8:30am**

_It was early on Monday morning. Steve was sitting at his desk, typing a report and nursing a cup of terrible coffee. The phone rang on Mike's desk. When the Lieutenant hung up the phone and grabbed his hat and raincoat, Steve knew they had a body._

_They walked down to the parking lot in silence. Steve was a little ragged from the weekend and Mike knew it. When he slid behind the wheel, Steve finally spoke._

" _Where are we headed?"_

" _448 Columbus, between Stockton and Green."_

" _Stella's?" Stella's, an Italian bakery opened during World War II, was a legend in the North Beach area._

" _You know, for someone who didn't grow up in San Francisco, you know an awful lot about the city."_

" _Mike, everybody knows about Stella's. It's not exactly a secret. Best cannoli in the city."_

" _Ok, I'll, give you that, wise guy."_

" _Murder?"_

" _Won't know till Bernie calls it."_

" _Then why are we already on the way there?"_

" _Stella's an old friend of the mayor."_

" _The Stella? There actually is a Stella?"_

" _Of course, you think they pulled the name out of a hat?"_

_Steve shook his head, threw the big tan sedan into reverse and headed for the Beach._

_A uniformed officer stood outside the bakery, restricting entry to the scene. Mike and Steve unnecessarily produced their ID's and enter the small shop to the sound of a tinkling bell. Bernie was crouched down next to the body of a dark haired young woman in a white uniform._

" _What do we got, Bernie?"_

_Bernie rolled his eyes at Mike, "I've been here 5 minutes. We have a dead girl."_

" _Murder?"_

" _Um, the gunshot wound marring her pristine white uniform would seem to indicate that, but I'll know more when I get her on the table."_

" _ID?"_

" _Donna Miller." Bernie handed Mike a California driver's license. He squinted at the grainy black and white photo. It really could have been anybody, but he had to assume it did in fact belong to the dead girl._

" _Boy, I can't wait till they replace these old style licenses with color pictures, this could be anybody.*_

_Steve sighed as he took the license from Mike. "17 years old, the ink probably isn't even dry on this thing. Has the notification been made?"_

" _No. We'll need someone to come in and verify her ID."_

_Steve copied the family address into his notebook. "Who found the body?"_

" _You'll have to ask the patrolman who answered the call, but my bet is on the man behind the counter." Bernie inclined his head to the glass case filled with baked goods. A distressed middle-aged man, flanked by a uniformed officer sat behind it with his head in his hands._

_Steve wandered over and got the patrolman's attention. The uniformed officer rounded the counter and spoke to Steve in a low voice. "That's Carlos Ramirez. He came in this morning at four to fire up the ovens and start baking for the day. He said the door was open and the lights were on when he got here. He found her on the floor and called the cops."_

_Steve, anxious to get away from the body of the young girl, went around the counter and gently laid his hand on the baker. Carlos looked up, his distress plainly written in his red rimmed eyes. Steve looked at the door behind the counter that led to the kitchen._

" _I'm Inspector Keller. How about if we go in the back, Mr. Ramirez." Steve punctuated the statement by holding his hand up and pointing the way._

_Ramirez looked dazed, but stood and walked mutely through the open door. The kitchen was deserted. The lights were on and the strong smell of rising yeast dough permeated the space. Steve led the man to a stool next to a stainless steel work table before getting him a drink of water from the sink. Ramirez took a sip of the water and attempted to collect himself._

" _I know you already spoke to the patrolman, but would you mind going over it again with me?" Steve gave him his most compassionate smile and took out his notebook._

" _I guess so. Like I said to the officer, I was coming in to start baking. When I pulled up, I was a little surprised that the lights were on. Usually the person who locks up shuts them off, except for the display case lights. Sometimes they forget, but when I got to the door and it was unlocked, I was really concerned."_

" _Who was supposed to close last night? Donna seems awfully young to have that kind of responsibility."_

" _I know. I've told Stella a million times it's not right to have a young girl alone in this neighborhood after the sun goes down, but Donna, she was really mature for her age, so level headed. Ramirez spoke with a reverent air. Most of these high school girls, well, let's just say they come and go, but Donna, well, she was different." Ramirez blessed himself and looked heavenward, adding, "God rest her soul, such a waste."_

" _How long had she worked here?"_

" _Over a year, started just after her 16_ _th_ _birthday. A real go getter. She came to Stella, asked for a job. She didn't just want to work the counter, she wanted to learn and didn't mind getting her hands dirty. Had a natural talent for baking, really got it. Probably would have given Stella a run for her money after a while. If she had only gotten a chance." Ramirez closed his eyes and looked down at the floor. A single tear trailed down his face._

_Steve let him have a moment before he continued. "What did you do when you found the door unlocked?"_

" _When I came in, I saw her on the floor. I knew she was dead, poor baby. I called the cops and then I called Stella. I guess you know the rest."_

" _Did you notice if anything was missing?"_

" _I did check the cash register, but the till was already removed and the safe was locked. I don't have the combination, so I couldn't check to see if the tray was in there."_

" _Did you touch anything other than the register, the door and the phone?"_

" _No Sir. As soon as I made the calls, I went out and waited for the cops in my car."_

" _Do you know if there was anything bothering her lately?"_

_Ramirez thought it over for a few moments. "Not that she mentioned, but then again, I didn't work with her much, she usually came in after I went home most days. Although come to think of it, she didn't seem to be smiling as much as she used to."_

_Steve jotted down a few notes and looked at his watch, rubbing his tired eyes. It was well past 9 am, more than 5 hours since the body was found. Something was bugging him about Ramirez, but his sluggish brain was having a hard time pinpointing the cause. Mike had taught him to trust his instincts about people, but his little voice was making no sense right now. He fished a card out of his wallet and handed it to Ramirez. "Here's my card. If you think of anything else, let me know. We'll be in touch."_

" _Can I go?"_

_Steve didn't see any reason to keep the man. "Sure, but can you give me a number where we can contact you if we have any more questions?"_

_Mike walked into the kitchen as Ramirez exited the back door of the bakery. "Anything?"_

" _Not really." Steve wasn't ready to share his unfounded suspicions with Mike yet. "You?"_

" _Maybe. Charlie found something caught under her nails."_

00000

The waitress came to the table and dropped off Jeannie and Steve's dinners. They ate quietly for a while until Jeannie spoke up.

"Sounds like a perfectly ordinary case. What made it so unsolvable?"

"Funny, that's what Mike and I thought at first. Robbery gone bad, jealous boyfriend, something like that, but it went sideways pretty quickly.

***California had photo driver's licenses as early as 1958. Color licenses were phased in starting in 1972.**


	3. Chapter 3

**September 11, 1972 11:30am**

_Mike and Steve pulled away from the bakery. The lab team had just arrived. After conferring with Charlie, they were on their way to speak with the dead girl's family. It was a job neither of them relished but they needed to get a positive ID._

_Steve parked the car in front of a small house at 241 Connecticut St. It was only a few blocks from Mike's house but a world away. It had definitely seen better days. The Lieutenant went first, Steve lagging behind. This was the least favorite part of the job._

_Mike knocked on the door with peeling brown paint and waited. A pale, middle-aged woman with mousy brown hair answered, pulling the door only open as far as the security chain would allow. A faint smell of alcohol wafted out of the 6 inch opening._

" _What do you want?" she asked with no pretense of civility._

_Mike smiled warmly, despite the greeting. "Afternoon Ma'am, I'm Lt. Stone, this is my associate, Inspector Keller. We'd like…"_

" _Cops, figures." She closed, then opened the door fully, turned her head and bellowed into the house, "Cameron, cops! What the hell did you do now?"_

_A young man of about twenty ambled to the door and came up behind the woman. He was painfully thin with dark circles under his eyes, filthy blue jeans and long shaggy hair. "I didn't do nothing ma, would you lay off of me."_

_The two detectives traded glances before Mike tried to speak again. "Ma'am we aren't here about the boy. Are you Mrs. Miller?"_

" _Yeah, what did you say your names were?"_

" _Stone and Keller, SFPD." Mike held up his ID. The woman nodded her head after inspecting his credentials._

" _We are actually here about your daughter. Am I correct that you do have a 17 year old daughter by the name of Donna?"_

_The woman blanched and promptly slammed the door in their faces._

_Steve gaped at Mike. "What was that about?"_

_Mike shrugged his shoulders and banged on the door once again._

_This time it was opened by the young man. Mike could hear sobbing in the background as Cameron Miller slipped out of the door and stood on the stoop in bare feet. He fidgeted nervously, like a junky in need of a fix._

" _I don't know what you two are up to, but it's gonna take me forever to get her calmed down. What were you thinking?"_

" _I'm sorry sir," Steve began, "but do you have a sister named Donna?"_

" _DID, man, DID. She died when she was 4."_

00000

"Hold on," Jeannie said, dropping her fork, "Your dead teen died when she was 4? How is that possible?

"I'm getting to that. It was only the beginning of the enigma." He refilled their wine glasses and continued.

**September 11, 1972 1:30 pm**

_Steve sat in the chair in front of Mike's desk picking at a sandwich. Mike had made slightly more progress on his lunch._

" _So now where do we start?" Steve asked._

" _That's the 64 dollar question, buddy boy. Maybe take her picture to the local high schools, see if anybody recognizes her."_

" _It's a beginning. If she was working, she had to have a Social Security Number, we can check that too."_

_Mike thought about it. "Maybe, but I don't know if that would help, either. How long do you think she has been masquerading as Donna Miller?"_

_Steve lifted his hands in confounded surrender. They had talked with Cameron Miller for over an hour before they came back to Bryant Street_ **_._ ** _He told them how his family disintegrated after Donna passed. His father, Frank Miller unable to cope with the loss, hung himself 3 years after Donna died. Cameron who was 11 at the time, had found his dad's lifeless body in the attic._

_His mother, Janice, worked as a maid when she wasn't too drunk, relying on bourbon to dull the pain of a shattered existence. Cameron had dropped out of school at 16 and now managed the best he could, picking up odd jobs or selling this and that, trying to keep the eviction notices at bay. From what Mike and Steve could see, he also relied on a heavy course of self-medication to cope with the hand life had dealt him._

" _It's a hell of a thing that family went through." Mike commented sadly as he picked up the phone. He had lost a wife, but could not begin to fathom the grief of losing a child. Steve shook his head in agreement as he listened to Mike's one sided conversation._

" _Yeah, Bernie, ID's a bust. … Jane Doe for now. … Yep. … We'll need the driver's license back so we can figure out how she got it. … Yep. … We'll need fingerprints, too. … When will you have something for us?"_

_Steve could hear Bernie's perturbed response from across the small room. Mike hung up the phone._

" _He should have something for us later this afternoon. Finish up." Mike tossed the remainder of his sandwich in the trash. "We have a date at DMV."_

" _Aw, Mike no, not the DMV! Can't we just call?"_

_Steve led the way to the counter, amid dirty looks from the hordes waiting in line for service. He smiled at the young woman at the desk, proffering his shield._

" _Can I ask you a couple of questions?"_

" _Well, seeing as this is the information desk, shoot!" The red head smiled broadly._

_Mike, who was a pace behind, covered a grin with his hand. It was always a good idea to let Steve make this sort of inquiry, particularly if the clerk in question was young and female. Steve felt his partner's amused eyes on his back, but chose to ignore him._

" _What do you need to get your first driver's license?" Steve was fairly certain he knew the process from his own experience, but the DMV regularly changed policy, and the detectives wanted to be sure._

" _All you need is a birth certificate. Once you pass the written test, we take your picture and you get a permit until you can schedule a road test."_

" _That's it? You don't need any other documentation? Something with an address?" Steve was trying to wrap his head around why the victim had used the Miller's address instead of her own._

" _Nope, just the birth certificate. Easy as pie."_

" _Do you make a copy of the birth certificate for the application?"_

" _Sure, we attach a Xerox of it to the paperwork."_

" _Where are the original documents stored?"_

" _We keep them here until they go to Sacramento to be digitized. That can take up to a month, sometimes more. Then they are destroyed and can be accessed by computer.*"_

" _How long do you keep them?"_

" _Usually 30 days."_

_Mike handed Steve the license. He looked at the issue date. August 10, 1972. He whispered to Mike, "Do you feel lucky?"_

" _Won't know until we ask."_

_Steve turned back to the counter and handed the license to the pretty clerk. "Any chance this application is still in house?"_

" _Could be, with the Labor Day holiday, we're a little behind schedule."_

" _Can we see it?"_

_The young woman hesitated. "Um, that decision is above my pay grade, if you know what I mean."_

_Steve leaned in close and nodded his head conspiratorially. The red head smiled again, jotting down something on a notecard and handed it to Steve. He slipped the card in his pocket._

" _Let me call my supervisor."_

_Mike stepped forward when a short, balding civil servant came from the back office. Fearing a red tape road block, he got right to the point. While reticent to share the information without authorization from Sacramento, office manager was no match for Lieutenant Stone. With a copy of the document in hand, they returned to Bryant Street to meet with Bernie._

_Mike handed Steve the birth certificate and application as they walked toward the morgue._

" _Looks official to me. And the picture is definitely of our victim."_

" _Exactly what I thought, how do you think our Jane Doe got ahold of it?"_

" _Who knows? I think the more important question is why and why use the Miller's address?"_

_They entered the autopsy suite to find Bernie hunched over the bleached looking body of their Jane Doe. Steve took his customary position by the door, while Mike went in for a closer look._

_The ME looked up. "Gentlemen."_

" _What's the word Bernie?" Mike asked._

" _Cause of death confirmed. Single gunshot wound. Probably a .22."_

" _Any surprises?"_

" _You mean other than the fact that she was pregnant?"_

' _Yes, Bernie. I would classify that as a surprise. How far along was she?"_

" _I'd say about 8 weeks. And Mike, I'm fairly certain this woman was quite a bit older than 17."_

00000

"So let me get this straight." Jeannie said between sips of coffee. Your dead teen was now a pregnant Jane Doe, who got a driver's license with a phony birth certificate."

"Almost. The birth certificate was real, it just wasn't hers and according to Bernie, she was closer to 25 and the pregnancy wasn't her first."

Jeannie stared open-mouthed at Steve as the waiter brought over the check. The restaurant had mostly cleared out and it looked like the wait staff was anxious for the couple to leave. Steve handed the waiter his American Express card and after a few quiet minutes signed the receipt.

"Let's get out of here." He said standing and helping Jeannie on with her jacket.

"You're not going to leave the story there, are you?"

"No, come on, we'll pick up your stuff and you can stay at my place. I've got plenty of room."

"Wait, I've got reservations at…"

"Chez Keller. You know you are always welcome."

**_*The California DMV was completely computerized in 1970._ **


	4. Chapter 4

It was midnight by the time Steve pulled into the driveway of his home on Grizzly Peak Boulevard in Berkeley. He hadn't made a lot of smart moves when he was younger, his ill-fated marriage was a prime example, although it gave him two fantastic daughters and multiple grandchildren. This place, however was one of his wiser decisions. The modest Spanish-style house overlooked Berkeley, San Francisco Bay and the city in the distance. On a clear day, he could see the Golden Gate Bridge. It was now worth more money than he could earn in 5 lifetimes.

He gently roused Jeannie who had dozed off in the front seat.

"Hey sleepyhead, we're here."

She awoke with a confused start. While she collected herself, Steve grabbed her bag from the back seat and walked up the path to the front door.

"You can have the guest room upstairs." He led her to the room and dropped the bag on the bed.

"Thanks, Steve. You didn't have to do this."

"Yes I did and you are very welcome, but the rest of the story is going to have to wait until tomorrow afternoon. I have class at 8:30 am and I usually don't stay up this late on a school night."

Jeannie laughed. "Tell me about it. This is way past my bedtime as well. When did we get to be so old?" He sighed and gave her a quick hug before retreating to his room.

Steve laid awake a good part of the night, the story-telling session weighing heavily on his mind. He hadn't thought about it for years, but this case always bothered him. Funny, He and Mike had never really talked about it, but finding Mike's notes told him he wasn't the only one haunted by the lack of closure.

He awoke to the smell of coffee and looked at the clock. It was only six am but he could see the first rays of the morning sun glinting off San Francisco Bay through the window. He showered and dressed, finding Jeannie on the patio staring out towards San Francisco. Exiting the French doors, he was embraced by a gentle salt-kissed breeze.

"I forgot about this view."

"It's really something, isn't it? Mike used to love to sit out here and watch the sun set, he really was a romantic when it came to  _his_ city. I don't know how I'm ever going to leave this place."

"Why would you?"

"Money. The property taxes are eating me alive. Once I retire, well… who knows." Steve yawned and sat heavily in one of the deck chairs.

Jeannie looked at his bloodshot eyes. "Looks like someone didn't sleep much."

"No." He took a large gulp of black coffee.

They sat in silence as the sky grew lighter.

Finally, Jeannie broke the morning's magic spell. "What time do you have to leave?" She was anxious to pick up where they left off last night. Hearing the tale last night and seeing the city she grew up in seemed to make her father come alive again.

Steve looked at his watch. "Depends. If I walk, about 7:15, later if I decide to drive. Do you need wheels today?"

"I can just call a cab."

"Forget it. My doctor says I really need the exercise and it's pretty much downhill the whole way. He pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket and dropped them on the table. Do what you need to do and then meet me at my office." He finished his coffee and went back in the house, packing the case files and Mike's notes in his satchel.

After a quick goodbye, Steve started the 3 mile walk to his office in Boalt Hall, the home of UCBerkeley Law. The Criminal Justice Department had moved into the School of Law building just before Steve started his academic career.

The brisk walk helped to mitigate the sadness creeping into his consciousness. The reality of retirement and accompanying change of lifestyle had as much to do with his mood as memories of the unsolved case. He couldn't change his current situation, but he wondered if there was anything in Mike's notes that could help him finally let go of a 40 year old mystery. It was surprising how much it mattered all these years later.

After swiping his ID in the door, Steve took the stairs at a jog, breathing heavily when he got to the third floor.  _Damn steps are gonna kill me one of these days._ Opening the door to the common area of the department, he was surprised that his office was open.

"Morning Dr. K." A cheerful, curly-headed woman called in greeting. She noticed his labored breathing. "You walk to school today?"

"Morning, Catherine. What's up?" he asked the 40-something administrative assistant who managed the Criminal Justice Department offices.

"Maintenance is measuring your office for the new occupant."

Steve rolled his eyes, "Geez, they didn't even let the body get cold, did they?"

Catherine laughed and shook her head as Steve walked into the office. He found a young man with a clipboard and a measuring tape assessing the space.

"Excuse me, is it ok if I use MY office?

"The young man looked up. "Oh, Sorry Dr. K., just doing my job. I'll get out of your way, I can come back later."

"Much," Steve muttered under his breath as he shooed the worker out the door. He tossed his bag on the desk, sat down and pulled out the files. He'd made it to the office in record time and had a few spare minutes before class.

Catherine followed him in with a Nalgene bottle filled with water and a worried look in her eyes. They had worked together for over fifteen years. That didn't even account for her 4 years in the department as an undergrad. She really liked the professor's easy going nature and quick wit. If only he were few years younger...

"You really need to take it easy, Doc. I'm not going to be around to take care of you after you retire."

Steve accepted the water and the concern. "It's one of my great regrets in leaving. What am I going to do without you?"

"Oh, flattery will get you everywhere Dr. K." Catherine blushed. "A couple of things. Your exams for this morning are locked in the file cabinet.  _You know,_  one of your TA's could have given the test. Your publisher called, you have a deadline coming up. The commandant of the Academy wants you to speak at graduation this term and maintenance wants to know when you are going to finish clearing out your stuff." She handed him three message slips.

" _Steve_ , Catherine. It's Steve." He had been trying to break her of the Dr. K. habit for years, but now that he was retiring, it made even less sense. "And thank you."

"One more thing. Have you made any decision on the retirement reception the University wants to have?"

Uncomfortable with the idea of a "Testimonial Dinner" he answered the question with a sigh and a shrug.

She smiled indulgently and looked down at the moldering files on his desk. "What's all this stuff?"

"Old case."

"Really?" Catherine always loved the stories Dr. K told about his days on the force. She had even met "Iron" Mike Stone a few times before he died. "Anything special?"

"You could say. Only one Mike and I never figured out."

"Oh, a mystery! Mind if I take a peek?"

"I guess…"

The bass line from the Doobie Bothers' "China Grove" sounded on Steve's phone. Usually engrossed in 100 different things, he had taken to setting a reminder alarm on his phone for when classes started. He got up and retrieved the exams from the file cabinet.

"Go get em, Doc, um Steve."

Steve smiled and left the office.

Catherine Wyland sat down at the desk and opened the file. As a Berkeley grad with a degree in Criminal Justice, she had always wanted to be a cop and Doctor K's enthusiasm had fanned that flame. When a trifecta knee injury at the Academy effectively ended her dream, she had kicked around from job to job until he called her about the administrative position. It wasn't a perfect solution, but she was happy here.

The past 15 years had flown by. She was proud of the work she did, keeping the department organized and functional despite the myriad personalities inhabiting the office. Although sad to see Steve Keller leave, the department would continue on without him.  _It just wouldn't be as much fun,_  she though ruefully.

* * *

Jeannie pulled the Lexus into the parking lot at Boalt Hall at half past eleven. She walked through the main entrance, checked in with security and took the elevator up to the third floor. Her errands hadn't taken long, less than two hours at the Realtor's Office. With one signature, she finalized the paperwork that severed her connection to San Francisco permanently. It really was a sad day.

She assumed Steve's class would be over by now. Surprised that no one was at the reception desk, Jeannie continued on to Steve's office, finding a dark-haired woman sitting with her nose buried in old files that were neatly organized across the desk. She cleared her throat, startling Catherine.

"Oh, hell, I'm sorry," Catherine said as she got up from the desk, "Can I help you?"

"I'm here to see Steve, um, Dr. Keller."

Catherine looked at the clock. "He should be up any minute, he was giving a final. Hey, have we met before?"

Jeannie walked over and offered her hand, "Jeannie Parker. I'm an old friend of Steve's. You're Catherine, right?"

"Yep, Catherine Wyland. Wait, you're Mike Stone's daughter, right?"

"Guilty as charged, did you know Mike?"

"Met him a few times. Know him mostly from Dr. K's stories. Seemed like a great man."

"He truly was. Mind if I wait here for Doctor Keller?"

"Be my guest, can I get you anything?"

"No, thanks, I'm fine. How long do you think he'll be?"

"Heck, he should have been up here by now, must have gotten side tracked." She was a little startled at how much time had passed. Steve wasn't the only one who was distracted this morning.

Jeannie looked at the files. "Looks like you've been busy."

Catherine laughed, "Yeah, organizing is in my nature. I collated all the lab reports and case notes. I was just getting around to your dad's handwritten notes when you walked in. It's amazing that anything got solved back in the day. No computers or databases, stone age science. Makes what your dad and Steve did all that more impressive."

"What did I do that was so impressive?" Steve chose that moment to walk back in the office.

Both women looked up. Steve gave them a sarcastic smirk.

"Hey boss. I hope you don't mind. I kinda organized the case notes for you. This is one heck of a story. I'd love to hear your take on it."

"That's what I thought." Jeannie chimed in. "But I still need to hear the rest of it. What do you say Professor?

Steve chuckled. "How can I turn down two beautiful women?"

Catherine smiled at Jeannie, "I'll order some sandwiches. I think this is going to be an interesting afternoon."


	5. Chapter 5

They settled in Steve's offices as he looked through the reports. After a few moments he resumed his tale.

**September 11, 1972 - 2 pm**

" _You're sure she's not a teenager?" Mike looked at the quirky ME with wide eyes._

" _Yep, the body doesn't lie."_

" _How can you tell she's had other children?" Steve piped in from the other side of the room._

" _Hang on. Let me answer Mike's question first." Bernie pulled several x-rays out of a sleeve and hung them on a light box. "Look at these. See how the long bones are bright and opaque all the way to the ends. That means the growth plates are totally ossified. All bone. Usually happens when a person is about 25. There's a little wiggle room in that, but not much. When I saw these, I also checked her ribs, after we removed the organs, and her teeth. Both were consistent with someone at least 25 years old."_

" _OK, what about…"_

" _I'm getting to that." He pulled another x-ray and replaced the ones on the box. "After I discovered the pregnancy, I had a second series done of her pelvis. See the shadows and scoring." He indicated an area on the pelvic x-ray. "That tells me she has given birth at least once."_

_Mike let out a low whistle. Now instead of an identified dead teenager, they were looking for a mystery woman with at least one child, living under an assumed name. He put on his glasses and looked more closely at the x-rays. "Hey doc, what about all these other bright white areas on the bones?"_

" _Noticed that, huh. Well done, with the amount of remodeling, it looks like she was the victim of quite a bit of abuse over the years. Hard to tell how old some of it is, but I'd bet at least some of it goes back to her childhood."_

_Steve cringed. He hated abuse cases as much as Mike did._

" _What about the trace under her nails? Steve asked._

" _I sent it up to Charlie. It looks organic, skin tissue and blood, but there was something else, too."_

" _You think she scratched someone?"_

" _And something, you'll have to follow that up with the lab."_

" _Prints?"_

" _Yep, after you said the ID was a no go, we printed her. Although with nothing to compare it to, it won't do us any good. Charlie has those as well."_

_Mike and Steve were about to leave when Bernie spoke again. "I don't know if this helps, but I don't think she was born in the US. Or if she was, she was born somewhere very rural."_

" _What makes you say that?"_

" _Dental work or the lack there of. Not like what we'd expect on a woman her age in the U.S."_

_Steve and Mike took their leave of Bernie and walked toward the lab._

" _Now what? With the abuse angle and the fake ID do you think she was hiding from someone?" Steve asked shaking his head._

" _Could be. Could be that they found her."_

" _And committed the ultimate abuse. Murder."_

" _Double murder."_

" _Double?"_

" _She was pregnant, buddy boy."_

" _I don't know if the courts see it that way."_

" _Doesn't matter to me." Mike pushed open the door to the lab. "Let's see what Charlie has."_

_Charlie saw Mike and Steve coming through the door and jumped on the opportunity to temper their expectations._

" _You can just stop right there, gentlemen. I've just begun to look at the scene evidence and haven't even touched the stuff Bernie sent me."_

" _Come on, Charlie," Mike said with irritation clear in his tone. "We need something, anything to help identify this woman."_

" _And try to figure out who killed her and why." Steve chipped in._

" _Please guys, I really do understand but I'll need at least till tomorrow before I have anything."_

" _First thing?"_

" _Yep, 8 am. We should have something by then. You can make the apologies to my wife for the overtime."_

_Steve and Mike went back to the bull pen._

" _I sound like a broken record, but what next? We have nothing." Steve asked as he got two cups of coffee and followed Mike into his office._

" _How bout we take a crack at Stella. She hired the girl, maybe she knows something. We can also get her to open the safe and make sure the till was locked inside. If it's not, then maybe this is a simple robbery gone bad."_

" _You don't believe that for a second, Mike."_

" _No, but we can hope."_

" _Plus we still have to ID her." Steve paused unsure if he should share his gut feeling on Ramirez, but without anything to go on, he added, "I think we need to talk to Ramirez again as well. Something about him was, I don't know, off. Nothing obvious, but I think he knows more than he shared."_

_Mike looked at him sideways "A hunch?"_

" _Maybe, if I'm right." Steve added with a tentative grin._

" _Fair enough, but if both of those fail, we still need to talk to the Social Security Administration."_

_Steve nodded. "Do you think we should follow up with the Millers? She had to get the birth certificate somewhere."_

_Mike considered the idea before he responded. "As a last resort. I would prefer to leave those poor people alone. There are other ways to get a birth certificate."_

" _But she knew the address and that the real Donna was dead."_

" _Let's just hold on that for now."_

_Steve paused and took a sip of coffee. "Your idea about checking high schools might be a valid one, even though she was an adult. If she was passing as 17, she would have to get her work permit through a high school."_

" _I think you're right. I seem to remember that when Jeannie got a part time job in high school. But we can check that with Stella as well, she would have had to fill in part of the application."_

_Steve pulled the notebook out of his pocket and handed it to Mike, who dialed the home of Mrs. Stella Magglio. When no one answered, he tried the bakery. After two rings the phone was answered by a tired voice._

" _Stella's. Can I help you?"_

00000

"This is what amazes me about what you did back then." Catherine said as she threw out the trash from lunch. You guys had absolutely nothing to go on but still found a toe hold to start the investigation."

"Didn't help much and really, cops still do that," Steve answered back. "They just have a lot more resources than we did. Interviewing suspects, witnesses and other people directly involved in a case is still the bread and butter of detective work."

The phone in the outer office rang and Catherine stepped away to answer. Jeannie looked at Steve with raised eyebrows, "A little hero worship? You better watch yourself Dr. K."

"Stop. She's a friend, coworker and young enough to be my daughter, for crying out loud."

Jeannie laughed, "And when has that stopped you before?"

"Point taken," Steve saluted Jeannie with a half empty water bottle, "but we have worked together for 15 years and I knew her as an undergraduate. It's just not done."

Jeannie was still smirking when Catherine walked back in the room. "What I miss?" She asked, as she looked from Jeannie to Steve and back again.

"Um, nothing. Let's continue.

**September 12, 1972**

_Steve picked Mike up at De Haro Street at 7:30 am. They drove to Stella's Bakery, surprised to see it open and crowded with early morning customers._

" _I guess donuts wait for no man, or woman." Steve said ruefully as they entered the shop. They were directed to the back by a 20-something red head when they asked for Mrs. Magglio._

_Stella Magglio, a short, stout woman of indeterminate age with coal black hair, was orchestrating activities in the kitchen like a maestro. She looked up and saw Mike and Steve enter, motioning them to follow her into a small office. She sat behind the desk and pointed the duo into the facing chairs._

" _What can I do for you gentlemen?" she asked with a 3 pack-a-day growl._

" _I'm Lt. Stone, this is Inspector Keller. We'd like to ask you a few questions about, um, Donna."_

" _I don't know what I can tell you, she just worked here. Although, I will say she was the hardest working teen I ever hired. Was going to be a hell of a baker, too. She had the knack."_

_Mike and Steve had already planned to avoid the topic of Donna's false identity. "Mrs. Magglio, did you fill out the work permit papers for Donna?"_

" _Yep. She came in here one day looking for a job. These kids turn over all the time, so I'm always looking for someone. I asked her age and she told me 17. So I told her to go to school and get the forms so I could fill them out. Takes most of the kids a while to do it, but she was back the next day. Her accent was a little thick, but heck, so were most of my family when they came over on the boat. I signed off and she started the next week. That was a year ago. She never missed a shift. It's a crying shame. Such a hard worker."_

" _Wait, she had an accent? Do you know where she was from?"_

" _Who knows, somewhere in Eastern Europe, Russia, Poland, Czechoslovakia, hell if I know."_

_Mike looked at Steve pointedly. This was the first they were hearing of Jane Doe's ethnicity, but it seemed to back up Bernie's supposition._

_Steve picked up the next question. "Do you happen to remember which high school she went to?"_

" _Now let me see… Balboa I think. Yep, definitely Balboa. I thought it was a little strange she would want a job out of her neighborhood. But, kids, whatever."_

_Steve wrote the name in his note book and asked another question. "Mrs. Magglio…"_

" _Stella, to my friends dear, it's Stella." The older woman smoothed her hair and smiled at the young inspector._

_Steve blushed, "Stella, did you check the safe yesterday?"_

" _Sure did, after the cops let us in. Wanted to make sure we didn't get robbed. Till was in there, didn't look like anything was missing. Carlos was trying to make me feel guilty about letting Donna close, but I told him it wasn't no robbery. Someone was out to get that kid."_

" _Why would you say that Ms. Magglio?"_


	6. Chapter 6

**September 12, 1972**

_Stella pulled a pack of Camels from out of the desk. "You mind?" She asked as she lit up a smoke and dropped the match in an overflowing ashtray. "Helps settle my nerves."_

" _So you were saying Mrs. Magglio…" Mike prompted the baker to expand on her last comment._

_Steve coughed as Stella blew smoke in his direction. "She lived scared."_

_Mike looked at Steve after the cryptic statement and asked. "How do you mean?"_

" _It wasn't anything obvious, she was friendly enough, smiled at the right times, but_ _sad. When she thought no one was looking, there was a faraway look in her eyes. S_ _he was always looking over her shoulder, too. You had to be really careful if you walked up behind her, she would startle like a scared rabbit. It was like she was hiding something or from someone."_

" _Did you ever ask her about it?"_

" _I did, of course she said it was nothing. But still, it concerned me. Then lately, if I didn't know better I would say she was sick, pale, circles under her eyes and a little green around the gills if you know what I mean."_

" _Did anybody ever come around looking for her? Friends?"_

" _No. That was strange too. Most of these high school kids I hire meet their friends after work or they come around looking to get hooked up with freebies, kids you know. Not her, no one ever came for her."_

" _How'd she get to work? We know she had a driver's license."_

" _Never saw her in a car. I'm pretty sure she took the bus. It stops right on the corner of Columbus and Green."_

_Mike nodded to Steve as he made a note to check with bus drivers on the multiple routes that ran along Columbus._

_They were all quiet for a moment. When it was clear Stella had no more insights about Jane Doe, Steve finally broke the silence. "Is Carlos here today?"_

" _No, he asked for the day off, do you blame him?"_

" _No ma'am, I don't. May we have his home address?"_

* * *

_A quick trip to Carlos Ramirez's home was a waste of time. Nobody was home so the pair drove back to Bryant Street._

" _Interesting. Ramirez was too upset to work, but not to be out for the day. "What do you think, buddy boy?"_

" _I think we'll have to keep after him."_

" _Me, too. So now we need to check with SFMTA and the State Department as well as Balboa High School, Social Security and the Bureau of Vital Statistics."_

" _Where do you want to start?" Steve was a little daunted with the thought of dealing with state and federal government and had no desire to spend the rest of the day on the phone. "Tell you what, let's split it up. I'll pick up the picture we had Telexed from DMV, hit the high school and SFMTA. You take the feds and state of California."_

" _You want me to deal with the red tape, huh wise guy?"_

_Steve grinned. "You know what Mike, with that steel-trap mind of yours, you'd make a hell of a detective. Do you mind? You know how I_ _**love** _ _dealing to the feds. Come on, isn't that why you're the lieutenant?"_

_Mike gave Steve an affectionate slap on the arm. "OK, but you owe me. I'll also check in with Charlie. He said he'd have something first thing."_

_Steve walked with Mike as far as the lab and continued on to the bull pen. He picked up the photo and noticed a pink message slip on his desk from Cameron Miller. Curious, he dialed the phone, only to be treated to a chorus of unanswered rings. He copied the number into his notebook and left the call back slip on Mike's desk with a short note before heading out to Balboa High._

_School had only been back in session for a week or so. Whether he would be successful or not depended on how long their Jane Doe had been impersonating Donna Miller._

_Steve parked in the visitor parking and walked to the main office. A helpful secretary pointed him in the direction of the guidance office. He waited until after the change of classes before he headed down the hall._

" _What can I do for you, officer?" The guidance secretary asked before he even showed his ID._

" _Is it that obvious?" Steve produced his shied._

" _No, not really, but you're definitely a not social worker or a teacher, they don't dress as nice as you and you're too young to be a parent, that leaves cop or state official, so I guessed."_

" _Fair enough, I need some information about a student." He pulled out the DMV picture. "Name's Donna Miller, 17. That makes her what a junior or a senior, right?"_

" _Most likely a senior." The woman looked at the picture. "Hm, doesn't look familiar. I usually recognize most of the faces by the time they are seniors. Sure she goes here?"_

" _Reasonably, she got her work permit from here about a year ago."_

" _Okay, let me pull her records."_

_The woman walked out of the main office and into the file room. She returned with a very thin manila folder._

" _Ok, Donna Miller." She said as she opened the file. "Makes sense now. She enrolled beginning of last year. Transfer, no records ever showed up."_

" _Is that normal?"_

" _Sometimes, especially kids from the boonies. We send records requests, usually takes a while but, we don't stop the kids from enrolling. Funny thing after she enrolled, I don't see any indication she ever stepped in the door again. I do see a record of her work permit, but that's about it." She pushed the document over toward Steve._

_When he looked he saw nothing but absences on her record and F's in all her classes. "What about truant officers?"_

_The woman laughed, "Yeah, that's pretty much a joke. Honestly they try, but some kids fall through the cracks."_

" _Who would have helped her with the work permit?"_

" _Me, but they are pre-filled." She produced a 4-part carbon with the school's information neatly typed at the top. "The kids come in, get the paper, take it to their employer, and bring it back. We keep a copy, the state gets a copy, employer gets one and the kid keeps the last. We keep a supply all the time, I must give out 10 a day."_

" _Great. Can I get her home address?"_

_Steve pulled out his notebook and started to copy down the home address from the file. He stopped when he realized what it was. "Do you check home addresses?"_

" _Same as the records, we get them registered and then follow up, why?"_

_He turned the paper around and showed the secretary the address for the SFPD station near Balboa Park._

* * *

_Mike was on the phone when Steve came back to the office well after 3 pm. His visit to SFMTA had yielded a long list of drivers and work schedules that would take the better part of a few days to run down. He was taking off his jacket when Mike waved him into the small office._

_Mike put his hand over the receiver. "Take a look at the report from Charlie, I'm on hold, AGAIN. You really owe me for this one."_

_Steve smirked and picked up the folder as Mike started to talk into the phone. He glanced through the results of the analysis of the scene, which, as expected, yielded hundreds of finger prints. He flipped the page. The typed results of the nail scrapings indicated the presence of blood and skin cells from an unknown person and a substance Charlie had identified as some kind of commercial cleaning product._

_As he finished reading the page, Mike hung up the phone. "Who was that?"_

" _That was the social security administration. A social security card was issued to one Donna Miller a little over a year ago at the office over on Valencia. They have the original paperwork housed there, but I'm willing to bet it's going to look an awful lot like the DMV paperwork. How did you make out?"_

" _School was a bust. She registered last year. From what I can tell the only time she was ever in the building was to get her work permit. And get this, she used the address of the precinct over in Balboa as her home address. We've got a lot of leg work to do with SFMTA. You find out anything else?"_

" _You might say that." Mike paused dramatically._

" _Come on Mike, what?"_

_"I called Vital Statistics. No duplicate birth certificate was ever issued, she must have had the original."_

" _Original? Then she had to get it directly from the Miller's. How is that possible?"_

" _That's what I want to know. I've been trying to call since you left, but no answer."_

" _Think that's why Cameron tried to call?"_

_Mike was already up grabbing his coat and hat. "I think that is exactly why he tried to call. Let's get over there and see what Mr. Miller has to say."_

" _I thought you wanted to leave them alone."_

" _I don't think that's an option anymore."_

* * *

_Steve pulled the LTD up to the dismal house on Connecticut St. They both unclipped their holsters when they found the front door wide open._

_Mike pounded on the door frame and announced their presence before carefully entering with Steve in tow. The place was cleared out. Mike pointed Steve upstairs, while he checked down._

_Mike was in the kitchen when he heard Steve call. Climbing the stairs, he found Steve in the second bedroom, crouched over the lifeless body of Janice Miller._


	7. Chapter 7

"Wait a minute," Catherine said taking a sip of wine. After suspending the story to get some packing done, the trio had adjourned to Steve's house for pizza and pinot noir on the patio overlooking San Francisco Bay. A cool sea breeze blew as the sun slid down the sky, bathing the scene in saffron-colored light. "I didn't see anything in the file about another murder."

"Murder, no. Janice either committed suicide or accidentally OD'd. Charlie's autopsy showed a deadly combination of alcohol and Quaaludes. No sign of a struggle, nothing pointing to murder."

"That's awful. What a tragic chain of events. Seems like the family was cursed." Jeannie added between bites.

"No kidding. I think that's why Mike originally wanted to leave them alone, they were so broken when we met them. But as time went on, it seemed likely Cameron Miller was involved up to his eyeballs."

"Could explain how Jane Doe got Donna's birth certificate and why she used the Miller's address for her driver's license." Catherine mused.

"Yeah, that's what we both thought. Maybe she was an illegal, maybe they were friends, maybe he was the father of the child she was carrying, maybe he gave her the birth certificate. Maybe Janice found out. Maybe Janice killed her and committed suicide. Maybe, maybe, maybe… A lot of maybes and no real answers."

"So what happened next?"

**September 16, 1972 9am**

_Mike and Steve had spent a couple of days chasing leads that went nowhere. Cameron Miller seemed to have vanished into the ether and Carlos Ramirez had yet to return to work. Steve had spent a lot of time on public transportation, talking to bus drivers with no recollection of a pretty girl named Donna in a white bakery uniform. Fortunately, he only had a few more names on his list._

_Mike was having the same sort of luck in the realm of federal red tape. After a lot of hours staring at microfilm of resident alien photos, he had found no record of a green card being issued to Jane Doe since 1965, which either meant she had come to the states much earlier or immigrated illegally. He still had microfiche immigration ledgers to go through and the thought of another day in the dark staring at a screen was not a pleasant one._

_Steve was working on his third cup of coffee, typing up the report of what little progress had been made. Mike was reading the coroner's report on Janice Miller's death when the phone rang on his desk. After a brief conversation, Mike grabbed his coat and hat and came out of the office with a smile for the first time in several days._

" _Where we going Mike?" Steve asked as he pulled his .38 out of the lower drawer and slipped it in his holster, rushing to catch up with his partner._

" _That was Collins from dispatch. Black and white just did a drive by the Ramirez place. Somebody's finally home."_

_Steve pulled up across the street from a small bungalow on Sanchez Street in the Mission District. The curtain in the front window twitched._

" _You think maybe I should go around back?" Steve asked as threw the car into park and pointed out the activity in the window with a tilt of his head._

" _Good idea. Doesn't look like he wants company, does it?"_

_Mike crossed the street and climbed the steps, knocking on the door. Steve jumped out of the car and trotted towards Ford Street so he could access the alley to the back of the house. As he reached the mouth of the cut through, he was bowled over by Carlos Ramirez swinging a medium sized duffle bag. Steve futilely grasped at the fleeing baker's legs, but a kick to the jaw quickly ended the effort._

_Mike glanced north up Sanchez St. just in time to see Ramirez barreling east on Ford. Abandoning the door, he ran towards the fleeing man, calling for him to stop. As he reached the corner, Mike looked for Steve who was just getting to his feet. He waved Mike off in the direction of the suspect._

_Mike pursued Ramirez a block before his partner caught up. He waved Steve down the side street, in the hope that the younger man could use his speed to circle in front the suspect. The plan was sound and would have been successful, if Ramirez hadn't disappeared down an alley in the opposite direction._

_Steve bent over took several panted breaths as he came to an abrupt stop next to Mike. He stood up and worked his jaw side to side. He was pretty sure it wasn't broken, but that didn't make it hurt any less._

" _Looks like you're going to have a hell of a bruise, you need to get that x-rayed?"_

" _Nah. I don't think so. Where'd he go?"_

" _That's a really good question, let's go call it in and see if we can figure it out."_

00000

Steve rubbed his jaw, the phantom pain of the encounter with Carlo's foot refreshed in his mind.

"So Ramirez was involved too?" Jeannie asked.

"Who knows? Mike and I searched the neighborhood and then went back to the car and called in an APB. We even got help from a couple of uniforms, but it was like the guy dropped off the face of the earth. The highway patrol ultimately found his car burned out and ditched east of San Diego. Mike figured Ramirez must have slipped over the border back to Mexico. We called the feds, but we never found him.

"What about Miller? Did he ever turn up?"

"Nope. He didn't even show up to his mother's funeral."

Jeannie picked up the pizza box and paper plates and dropped them in the trash. "So that's where it ended, huh?"

"Not quite."

**September 16, 1972 1 pm**

_Mike dropped Steve off near Stella's to wait for the bus. The last driver on his list was finally on duty and due to arrive presently. Steve got on the bus that traveled down Green when it stopped at Columbus. The middle aged man behind the wheel did a double take when he saw Steve's bruised face, but waved him on when he caught sight of his inspectors shield. Several more passengers boarded before the driver pulled away from the curb. Steve dropped heavily in the empty front seat._

" _Looks like you've had a rough day." Steve shook his head in agreement before the driver spoke again._

" _I've been waiting for you."_

" _Really?" Steve called from the driver's right. "Why is that?"_

" _Morey, the guy who drives the late run, said some cop was nosing around. Who are you looking for?"_

" _Teenager who works at Stella's. Pretty, dark curly hair. Goes by Donna."_

_The drive was silent a moment as he pulled the bus over at the next stop and opened the door. After several more passengers boarded, he returned his attention to Steve._

" _Yeah, I know Donna. Nice kid. Damn shame what happened." Steve was slightly taken aback that the driver knew of Donna's demise, but figured the news of the investigation had preceded him._

" _Where did she normally get on the bus?"_

" _Down by Holy Trinity, you know that Russian Church on the other end of Green. I actually saw her running out of the church one time, trying to catch the bus. I waited for her, of course, like I say, seemed like she was good people."_

" _You think she lived in the neighborhood?"_

" _Hard to say, but yeah I think so. Pretty big foreign community right there by the church, and with her accent, yeah she probably did."_

_Steve thanked the driver and gave him his card. He got off the bus across the street from the church. As luck would have it, there was a phone booth on the opposite corner. He crossed the street and dialed Mike's desk phone at Bryant Street._

" _What you find out?" Mike asked._

" _She's got a connection with the Russian Orthodox Church on Green, Holy Trinity. I'm standing right in front of it now."_

_Steve waited for a reply. When none came after a reasonable interval, he posed another question._

" _Is there a problem?"_

" _God, I hope not."_


	8. Chapter 8

_**September 16, 1972 3pm** _

_Steve was the only customer at the counter of the small coffee shop. It was directly across Van Ness from the Cathedral. As he nursed his second cup, awaiting Mike's arrival, he pondered his partner's cryptic statement. Granted, the nation's relationship with the Soviet Union was troubled, but surely the chill did not extend to the Orthodox Church in San Francisco. As far as he knew, Holy Trinity Cathedral dated back to the 1850's in the Russian Hill section of the city where he now sat._

_When the twenty-something woman at the counter came to fill his cup for the third time, he decided to do a little recon of his own. He smiled warmly in thanks and took a chance._

" _Hey, you know anything about the church across the street?"_

" _Like what?"_

" _Oh, I don't know, like how old is it? When's it open? Is it a busy place? You know, regular tourist stuff."_

" _You don't strike me as a tourist, why so interested? You a cop or something?"_

" _Gee, is it tattooed on my forehead? Second time I've been made for a cop this week before I even pulled out my badge."_

" _Educated guess. First, you drink this swill like a pro and there's that nice new bruise on your face, but mostly it's the threads, man. Too stylish for the locals, too dressy for tourists." The young woman grinned and giggled._

" _I guess I'm going to have to talk to my tailor." He returned her smile and sought out her nametag. "Diana, pretty name, I'm Steve."_

" _Nice to meet you Steve and no, don't change a thing, you look great," she said with a wink. It was Steve's turn to grin. Diana continued, "It's just you're not the first suit asking about Holy Trinity. There was an FBI guy here, I don't know, about two weeks ago asking pretty much the same thing. And then there were these guys with Boris Badenov accents who were around before that."_

" _Really? What did you tell them?"_

" _Same thing I'll tell you, I really don't know anything about the place. I'm from Tacoma, just started here six months ago. I don't even live in this neighborhood, I just work here."_

_Not willing to give up, Steve continued the conversation. "I dig, but you must have noticed something in the last 6 months. Do you work on Saturday and Sunday?"_

" _Yep."_

" _So you see people going to services, right."_

" _Yep."_

" _So were they old people or young people?"_

_She thought a moment. "Mostly old men in black suits, stout old women in babushkas. There are a few young families, but it's mostly old people."_

" _Babushkas?"_

" _Yeah, those silk scarves they wear tied under their chins. My Babcia used to wear one to church all the time._

" _Babcia?"_

" _Yeah, Polish grandmother."_

" _Well, I guess I learned something today, Babushkas huh? So, no younger single men or women?"_

_She was about to say no, but though better of it. "Funny, that's what the other suits asked. I really hadn't thought much about it, but every couple of weeks I would see groups of younger women, maybe late teens early twenties and groups of thirty something single men. Just for a day or two and then they would disappear."_

" _Did you tell the feds or Boris that?"_

_Diana smiled at the mention of the cartoon character, "No, I just remembered."_

_Steve pulled the picture of Jane Doe out of his pocket, "You ever see this girl?"_

_Diana looked at the picture, "I don't know, maybe. Like I said, they wouldn't be around for long, plus I see a lot of people waiting for the bus every day as well." She returned the picture._

_Steve was about to ask another question when the bell on the door tinkled, announcing the arrival of Lt. Mike Stone._

_Diana leaned in and whispered to Steve, "I don't even have to think twice about him, definitely a cop."_

_Steve laughed before introducing his partner to the young woman._

_Mike sat down and Diana poured him a cup of coffee before disappearing through a door behind the counter._

" _What was all that about wise guy?" Mike asked before taking a sip._

" _Oh nothing. What took you so long?"_

" _Nothing, huh, we'll see. While you have been chatting up the young lady I was making phone calls. Trying to grease the skids with the clergy across the street."_

_Steve pantomimed mock insult to Mike's jab. "Yeah, about that. What did you mean on the phone, that it might be a problem?"_

_Mike took a long sip of coffee before he elaborated._

00000

Jeannie yawned and looked at her watch, surprised to see it was going on 10 pm. "Well, as compelling as this story is, I've got to call it a night, I still have to pack and my flight's at 8 am. I don't think I can handle two late nights in a row anymore." She bid them pleasant dreams, got up and took her wine glass into the kitchen, leaving Steve and Catherine on the porch. The sun had disappeared hours ago, leaving them in semi darkness. San Francisco shimmered in the distance, swathed in the glow of a multitude of incandescent streetlights.

Steve picked up the wine bottle and tried to split the dregs between Catherine glass and his own. Catherine quickly put her hand over her glass.

"I've had plenty boss, I've got to work in the morning."

Steve replied with a melancholy laughed. "Me too I guess, but not for very much longer."

"You having second thoughts, Doc?"

"Steve."

"Right. Steve. Are you having second thoughts about retiring?"

"No. Yes. Maybe. Hell, I don't know. I suppose it's the uncertainty. I have no idea what I'm going to do with myself. The only time I've had unstructured time was when I was hurt and frankly, I didn't handle it all that well. It scares me."

Catherine considered several trite platitudes, but in the end said nothing. They were both quiet for several moments staring back toward the city. There didn't seem to be anything left to say. Steve downed the remainder of his glass and held the door open for Catherine.

"Remember, I'm gonna to be late tomorrow. I'm taking Jeannie to the airport. If anybody turns up for office hours, tell them to come back after lunch and do me a favor, don't let anybody take over my office before I get back, ok."

Catherine gave him a thumbs up followed by a friendly hug before she made for the door. "You got it. See you tomorrow Dr. K."

Steve shook his head and resigned himself to always being Dr. K in Catherine's eye. He thought back on Jeannie's comment in his office and half wondered if his reticence to retire had something to do with his curly haired assistant.


	9. Chapter 9

Steve tossed and turned for more than an hour before giving up on sleep altogether. Like most people his age, sleep came in spurts, if at all, and he had learned long ago if wasn't going to happen, he might as well get something accomplished. He went down to his office and pulled Mike's notes out of his satchel.

He ran his hand over the tidy scrawl before he started to read. Having translated it so often over the years, he could feel Mike present in the depressions on the paper. As he looked around on his desk for his glasses, he thought about their visit to the rectory of Holy Trinity all those years ago.

_**September 16, 1972 4pm** _

_Steve trailed Mike up the stairs to the rectory next to Holy Trinity Cathedral. They had discussed the issues they might run into with the Orthodox cleric before they'd left the coffee shop._

" _So?" Steve prompted Mike, who seemed to be stalling._

" _Well, let's just say that religion isn't the only business this particular cathedral is in. You said that Diana mentioned seeing groups of young men and women. What does that suggest to you?"_

" _I don't know, social group? Why are you being so mysterious?"_

" _How about mail order brides and illegal immigration?"_

_Steve was dumbfounded. He couldn't believe such a thing as mail order brides existed at this point in history._

" _Really, you're kidding me, right?"_

" _Fraid not. This church has been a nexus of illegal immigration since the 50's."_

" _And the feds let it happen?"_

" _Pretty much. Most turn a blind eye to the operation, figuring the church is providing a service to women wishing to escape the oppression of the Soviet state. And once they're married, well…"_

" _They get their green cards and everything's legal."_

_Mike tapped his finger on the tip of his nose in response._

" _So this is just an exercise in futility?"_

" _I didn't say that. I just think we will have to be extraordinarily careful in our approach with Fr. Ivan."_

" _Father Ivan, really?" Steve snickered a little._

" _Why is that so funny?"_

_Steve collected himself before replying. "Oh, I don't know, it just kind of stereotypical, isn't it, particularly after talking to Diana about Boris Badenov."_

" _Who?"_

" _Boris Badenov, you know, with Natasha Fatale, moose and squirrel." He finished of the last bit with a mock Russian accent._

" _What are you going on about?"_

" _Didn't you ever watch_ _ **Rocky and Bullwinkle**_ _with Jeannie? Diana said there were a couple of guys nosing around with Boris Badenov accents of late. Russian Accents"_

" _Really? Nice work, buddy boy, we might just be able to use that in our favor."_

00000

Steve awoke with a start, the sound of banging in the kitchen interrupting a dream about certain residents of Frostbite Falls, Minnesota. Why was it he could always fall asleep on the couch or a chair, but never in his very comfortable bed? He looked at the clock now creeping past 5 and realized time was playing him for the fool again. He needed to be ready to leave for the airport in a few minutes, damned traffic and 9-11 TSA regulation. After stuffing the notes back in his bag, he stretched and went up to change. It was going to be a long day. He grabbed a cup of coffee on the way out the door.

A congested trip out to the airport and back ended when Steve turned up at Berkeley at 11 am. He was sorry to see Jeannie go. It felt like a door shutting for the last time. With the house sold and Mike gone, there was no reason for her to return to The City.

Jeannie, for her part, was anxious to get back to her life in Phoenix. In the morning's hubbub, she hadn't even asked about case. They exchanged hugs, platitudes and promises but, truth be told, both understood that they may never see each other again. Steve had been having moments like this a lot recently, moments of finality. It made him feel old and he didn't particularly like it.

Catherine was sitting at her desk, talking on the phone when Steve came in. She smiled. He waved vaguely in her direction; went to his office and closed the door. After reading his messages and dropping them in the trash without action, he made a cup of tea. Sitting heavily, he opened his satchel and slipped Mike's notes out onto his desk.

About halfway through the 6th page, he found a name that caught his attention. According to Mike, Dr. Matthias Lewis was a DNA expert. The name was familiar, but he couldn't quite recall in what context. DNA wasn't even a consideration in 1972 and Mike was never really a fan of crime fighting with science. He checked the date at the top of the entry. 1992. That was almost 20 years after the murder.

He made to grab a book off his research shelf, before he remembered that his reference books had already been boxed. He looked at his laptop, but thought better of it.

Steve buzzed the outer office.

"Whatcha need, Dr. K?" was the perky response on the end of the line.

"How would you like to play detective for the afternoon?" Steve knew she would like nothing better than to do a little research on the very cold case.

Catherine laughed out loud before answering, "Do you even have to ask?"

"Just being polite, I have a name I need to get some background on and if possible, contact information."

"Shoot."

"Dr. Matthias Lewis. He was or is a DNA expert. That's all I have, just a name, no context except that he was active in the field in 1992."

"No sweat. Name sounds kinda familiar. You know, you could have probably just looked it up on Google."

"Yeah, I know, but you are so much better at following leads down the digital rabbit hole than I am."

"As I said before, Doc, flattery will get you everywhere. But I have one condition."

"And that is?" Steve answered with a curious lilt to his voice.

"This is part of you cold case, right?"

"Yep."

"After I look this up, you need to tell me the rest of the story."

"Seems fair. Let me know when you've got something"

Steve smiled as he hung up the phone. He knew that Catherine could not resist a mystery. It was one of her many endearing qualities.  _Dammit, Jeannie_. He thought. She had planted a seed in his brain regarding Catherine, and he was having a hard time dismissing the thought. He was old enough to be her father, but still….

He shook his head and paged through the rest of the notes, but there was no more mention of DNA or Dr. Lewis. He put the tablet to the side, pulled over one of the packing cartons that was laying by his desk and started to empty the drawers into it. He wasn't terribly concerned with the contents and half considered leaving the various and sundry office supplies it contained in situ. Deciding it would be rude to let someone else deal with the collection once they moved into  _his_ office, he pulled out the drawer and dumped the balance into the box.

Steve sealed the crate with tape and tackled the file drawer of the credenza. He had to be more careful here as the records of his entire teaching carrier, including the original manuscripts for several of his books, were contained within. He pulled out the files that supported his latest book and shoved them in his satchel with the old case file, recalling he had a chapter overdue. Cathering stuck her head in the door.

"Are you still alive in here?" she asked. She was used to him getting involved and missing lunch, but it was already past one and she couldn't help but look out for him. Steve looked up in her direction.

"Yeah, I'm still here. Just trying to decide whether to pack this stuff or put a match to the place. There is absolutely nothing worse than packing, particularly after all these years. What am I gonna do with all this... " he waved his hand in exasperation at the explosion of files on his desk, "junk?"

"Junk, really?" I think the university would be happy to have your 'junk' for its collection if you don't want it. For crying out loud, Doc, it's amazing that a smart guy you sells himself so short."

Steve was a little taken aback by her compliment. While he had written several important text on criminology, he never considered his archive to be worthy of preservation, they were just, well they were just notes. He shrugged back at her, choosing not to share his inner monologue.

An awkward silence followed until Steve noticed the slip in her hand.

"That for me?"

"Um, yeah." Now it was Catherine's turn to feel flummoxed as she felt heat rise in her face.  _What the hell just happened?_  she thought.

"It's the quick and shallow on Dr. Lewis" she replied, getting her mind back on track.

She handed Steve the note while reciting the information it contained. "Dr. Matthias Lewis was a DNA pioneer for the FBI, worked or works at their headquarters in Quantico, Virginia. He was on the team that helped convict Timothy Wilson Spencer, the Southside Strangler in Virginia in the 80's. Hey wasn't that the first case that used DNA in the US?"

Steve snapped his fingers, "That's where I remember it from, jeez getting old sucks. I can't remember squat these days."

"Give yourself a break, I didn't remember it either," Catherine said with a smile.

"He still around?"

"From what I could find, yeah, but I don't know if he's still active in the field. It'll take more digging to get current contact information."

Steve was a touch disappointed. For some reason he felt like maybe he finally had a lead on the old case.

"Tell you what. I'm beat and I'm starved. Why don't we get out of here, I'll buy you a late lunch and I'll finish the story."

"Gee, doc. I have shared more meals with you in the last two day than I have in the last two years, lemme get my jacket. How's Indian sound?"

"Sounds like a great Idea." Part of the benefit of living in a town that housed a University with an international staff was the food.

Steve followed her out of his office and locked the door, happy not only to have dodged packing for another few hours, but also to be in the company of a vivacious younger woman, rather than his own maudlin thoughts on retiring.


	10. Chapter 10

Catherine used a hunk of garlic naan to mop up the last of the sauce on her plate of Malai Kofta. Steve pushed his entree away and took a long pull on his bottle of Kingfisher, querying his luncheon partner.

"Where did I leave off?"

"I think you and Lt. Stone were about to go see Fr. Ivan."

_**September 16, 1972 4:00 pm** _

_The housekeeper answered the door and led the officers into the study. They waited a few minutes before a man entered the room. Mike seemed surprised by his appearance. He was young, maybe 30 or so and looked more like a hippie than a eastern orthodox cleric._

" _I'm sorry, I thought we were meeting with Father Ivan?" Mike asked._

" _He is not available at the moment, I'm his associate Deacon George, how can I assist you gentlemen?"_

_Steve thought he heard a slight touch of the Ivy League in his voice. For sure, there was no trace of Eastern Europe present. He made eye contact with Mike who nodded and then handed the DMV photo of Jane Doe to the Deacon. Mike for his part kept his eyes on the cleric, trying to get a read on the man's reaction._

" _Sir, can you tell us if this young woman was a member of your congregation." Steve asked politely._

_The Deacon took a few moments to study the grainy, black and white picture, he demeanor neutral. He finally looked up at Steve, "I can't say that I've ever seen her, but then again I have only been here two weeks."_

_Disappointed by his response, Mike took the lead. "Is it possible that we could show it to Father Ivan as well? He has been here for quite some time, as I recall."_

_The Deacon frowned slightly, "I'm sorry that is impossible, Father Ivan has been recalled to our Mother Church in New York. We are actually waiting for his replacement as we speak."_

" _Is there anyone else that we can speak to?" Steve asked, fairly certain he knew what the response would be._

" _I'm afraid not. I'm just kinda holding down the fort until we get a new priest. I don't know the congregation that well and even if I could give you their names, they might be reticent to speak to law enforcement, if you know what I mean. Sorry."_

_Steve handed him his card. "If you can think of anything else, we would really appreciate a phone call."_

00000

"Wait, wait, the priest was recalled between the time Mike made the appointment and when you got there, in like, a couple of hours?" Catherine asked.

"Suspicious, huh"

"That's an understatement."

"Mike and I thought so too. But the weirdness doesn't end there."

00000

_Steve slid behind the wheel of the LTD, happy to be driving rather than riding the bus after several days of "bus route bingo" trying to interview drivers._

" _So where do we go from here, boss?" Steve asked playfully. They had struck out at the church, although they had left a card with the young Deacon._

" _Telephone for you, back to the microfiche for me."_

" _Telephone who?"_

" _I need you to see if you can find out who 'recalled' father Ivan to New York. I think it's also time to contact the Feds, to see why they were interested in the Church."_

" _And while I'm having all that fun?"_

" _I'll be reviewing Immigration logs, pretty sure it's going to be a waste of time after I struck out on green cards, but you never know."_

" _What about Cameron MIller?"_

" _What about him, the APB was a bust."_

_Steve went quiet. It seemed to him they had a big collection of dead ends. Ramirez and Miller were in the wind. Janice Miller was dead. Father Ivan transferred. He doubted the church would be forthcoming and the feds were never terribly cooperative. The only tangible thing they had was a dead, pregnant 25 year old with an eastern European accent who, before her death was masquerading as a teenager. They didn't even know where she lived._

_A horn sounded, waking Steve from his reverie. He hadn't noticed that the light had changed. He put his foot on the gas and slowly made his way through the intersection, pulling over to the curb._

" _What?" Miked inquired at the unplanned stop._

" _There has to be somebody in this neighborhood who remembers our Jane Doe. She got the bus here, so more than likely, she lived near here. Since we are already here, don't you think it's worth a few minutes to hit the local shops, especially the ones that cater to the Russian community, to see if we can get a name?_

_Mike thought about it for a few beats. Truth be told, he wasn't enthralled with the idea of spending more time pouring over records. "Sure, why not. Maybe we'll get lucky, pull around the corner. There's a butcher shop and a grocer's on Union."_

_Steve smiled, Mike's knowledge of the city always amazed him. He was also happy to put off what he assumed would be dead end phone calls. Pulling back out onto Van Ness, he made a left on Union, parking in front of Lebedev's Butcher Shop._

_A bell tinkled as Mike and Steve entered the shop. Steve briefly thought of the vocabulary Diana shared with him when a short, stout woman in a blood stained white apron and colorful babushka addressed them in Russian._

_Mike held up his star and responded in the few words of Russian he knew. The woman scowled and disappeared through the door behind the counter._

" _What was that all about?" Steve asked just before a girl in her teens came through the same door._

" _How can I help you gentlemen?" she asked pleasantly_

" _Miss…?"_

" _Ledbedev, Tanya. This is my grandparents' shop. My grandmother doesn't speak much English, and she especially doesn't speak English to the police. A lot of Russians of her generation are afraid of anybody in authority. I don't blame her."_

_Mike nodded in understanding. "Miss Ledbedev, would you mind looking at a picture for us."_

" _Sure."_

_Steve pulled the photo out of his pocket. She stared at it intently before responding._

" _I can't be sure, but it looks a little like Irina, but she's a blonde."_

" _Do you know her last name?"_

_The young woman paused and thought, "Not sure, I only work here part time, but my Grandmother might, hang on a second."_

_The girl turned and left through the door. Her departure was followed by a brief argument in heated Russian. Tanya returned._

" _Uh, my grandmother said, and I quote, 'She is a good girl and you don't need to talk to her."_

_Steve rolled his eyes at Mike, then turned and smiled at the girl, "That's okay, maybe you can help us. Does she come in here often?"_

" _I've see her a few times, but like I say I'm only part time."_

" _Have you seen her recently?"_

" _Now that I think about it, it has been a long while."_

" _Do you have customer records?" Mike chimed in, having some knowledge of how these mom and pop immigrant shops operated._

_Tanya produced a small metal box from behind the counter. "Yeah we do. Lot of bartering goes on in the neighborhood, unfortunately all the cards are in Cyrillic. I can speak it but I don't read it at all. Without a last name, I don't have a clue."_

_This was going nowhere fast. As a last ditch effort Steve asked, "Do you think she lives in the neighborhood?"_

" _I think I have seen her around, but it's hard to say. Some people drive here to shop, even when they've moved off the Hill."_

_Mike and Steve thanked Tanya for her help and exited the shop, walking directly into Sokolov's Grocery._

" _Lt. Stone, long time no see. You here for Babka?_

_Steve looked at Mike with a "Why didn't we start here?" look._

_Mike ignored his partner's questioning eyes and greeted Alexi Sokolov._

" _Not today Al, we're here with questions."_

_The older man's smile vanished. "Come on, Mike you know I don't play that game anymore."_

" _NO, no it's not like that." Mike answered quickly._

_Steve was perplexed at the interchange, but Mike spared no time on explanations._

" _Show him the picture."_

_Steve pulled the photo from his pocket, Alexi limped from behind the counter and put on his glasses, studying the grainy black and white._

" _Looks a little like Irina Petrovic, but she's been dead for over a year. A real shame, only married a few years, had a pretty little girl, Eva I think."_

_Steve took out his notebook and wrote down the name, showing it to the grocer to verify the spelling. "Do you have a name and address on the husband?"_

" _Yeah, I do. But I heard that Petrovic and the kid moved on, Seattle I think."_

_Alexi pulled out a log book and flipped nearly to the end before he came up with the name Mikhail Petrovic and an address on the 1200 block of Filbert._

_Mike and Steve exited the shop and set off for the address on foot._

" _What's the deal with the old woman and the girl in the butchers? Steve asked Mike as they rounded the corner. "You'd think they would know if their customer was dead. It makes no sense, they gotta be lying. And what is the deal with Sokolov?"_

" _He used to be a snitch for one of the uniforms, till he crossed the wrong person. You see the limp, they almost killed him. As for the contradiction in their stories, somebody is definitely lying about something, but which one? Do you remember seeing in the report that our Jane Doe's hair was dyed."_

" _Nope, I think Bernie would have noticed that. You think we are barking up the wrong tree?"_

" _Could be."_

_Mike and Steve arrived at 1269. Repeated pounding was finally rewarded when a young boy in a 49ers t-shirt answered the door. Mike took the lead with the 5 year old._

" _Nice shirt young man, I'm a 49ers fan too!"_

" _Mom says I'm not s'posed to talk to strangers."_

" _Your mom's right." Mike took out his star and showed it to the boy. "But I'm a Policeman. Did she say that was ok?"_

" _Yup, that's ok."_

" _Is you mom here?"_

" _Uh huh, she's in the kitchen."_

" _Can we talk to her please?"_

_The boy bellowed, "MOM," turned, and ran from the door._

_They stood patiently on the stoop until a petite blonde in a flour-dusted apron approached the door with the small boy in tow. She gaped at the wide open front door and gently chastised the small boy._

" _Billy, you know you're not supposed to answer the door."_

" _Ah, ma I'm 5, I can answer the door." He held up 5 fingers as he spoke._

_She turned and wiped her hands on her aprons and greeted the two cops. "Sorry about that gentlemen, what can I do for you?"_

_Both Steve and Mike offered their ID before they spoke._

" _No problem ma'am, I'm Lt. Stone and this is Inspector Keller, do you have time to answer a few questions?" They heard a kitchen timer go off in the background._

" _I guess, but you'll have to follow me, that timer is calling my name."_

_They followed the woman into a cramped kitchen. She took a pan of cookies out of the oven and put them on a rack to cool before slipping in another tray and setting the timer._

" _Ya got 11 minutes." She said as she flopped down on a kitchen chair. "I hate bake sales."_

" _Can we get your name please, Steve asked with a smile."_

" _Geeze my manners, Sorry I'm Doris Martin."_

" _Ms. Martin, how long have you lived at this address?"_

" _I guess going on a 6 months. From what I understand, the previous resident left without a word."_

" _So you never met them?"_

" _Nope. We only dealt with a rental agent. We were just happy to get the place. We really didn't ask any questions."_

_Steve looked at Mike, who picked up the thread._

" _Did you ever ask your neighbors about the house. I mean, you had to be curious."_

" _Funny, I tried to, but nobody seems to know anything in this neighborhood, they kind of close ranks. Plus, half of them pretend they don't speak English, makes it kinda hard to make friends."_

_Mike was just about to bail out of the interview when the timer sounded. Mrs. Martin swapped the trays and sat back down. "Sorry."_

" _No problem, Ma'am, we are just going to get out of your way." Mike laid a card on the table, if you thinks of anything, please give us a call."_

_Mrs Martin was walking them to the door when she stopped suddenly, "Hang on, I'm such an idiot, I didn't tell you about the box."_

" _Box?"_

" _Yeah, gosh I'd lose my head if it wasn't attached. One of the reasons I asked around was because we found something in the closet when we moved in, hang on."_

_She walked in the other room and came back with a small white box. She handed it to Mike._

" _Here you go, I'm sure somebody is missing that."_

_Mike opened up the box. It contained a heart shaped locket with an elaborate "I" engraved on the face. He pried it open. Inside, on one side, was a photo of a baby and behind glass on the other was a small coil of dark hair._


	11. Chapter 11

"And that's pretty much where it ended. Bernie verified her hair wasn't dyed, so we were never really sure if our Jane Doe was Irina. No one ever filed a missing person report. We never found any record of a Mikhail or Eva Petrovic that matched our parameters in Seattle or anywhere in the US. It's like they never existed. Immigration was a dead end as well."

"What about the church. Were you ever able to talk to Fr. Ivan?"

"Nope, when I finally got ahold of of the administrator for the church, he said that Fr. Ivan had taken an extended sabbatical in the Ukraine to care for an ailing parent. Apparently he never came back. Over the years, I would call periodically, but it was a dead end."

"Did you follow up with the shopkeepers?"

"Yeah, but Tanya didn't know anything more and the Grandmother refused to talk to us. We tried to compel her legally, but she passed away less than a year later. Sokolov never changed his story, and Mike was convinced he was telling the truth."

"Did you ever find out who told him she was dead? A funeral would have been pretty conspicuous in that neighborhood."

"Yeah I know, but apparently it was a hush hush thing, The husband told Sokolov she was stepping out on him and was killed by her boyfriend. Back in the day, in that male dominated community, people never asked questions in those situations. According to Petrovic, she had disgraced and humiliated him, end of story."

"What about the FBI?"

"They knew about the illegal immigration ring, but they were looking into Russian mob activity. It seemed that the mail order bride business of the church was the worst kept secret in San Francisco."

"Do you think the murder had anything to do with the mob?"

"I'm gonna say no, because the FBI didn't seem interested in our investigation. Had it been connect they would have been all over it."

"So that was it."

"Yep, that was it."

They were both quiet for a moment while Steve took care of the bill.

"You know I can pay for my own meal, Dr. K."

"Yeah I know, but I enjoy treating, I'm old school remember. Consider it a thank you for 15 years of faithful service."

"Hell. If I'd known that, I would have ordered the Lobster."

Steve laughed as he signed the receipt and they walked back to campus.

"What ever happen to the locket?"

"I don't know. It would probably be in the original case evidence box."

"It's still around? "

"For unsolved cases, they tend to keep the evidence, so yeah, it's still around somewhere. What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking about the DNA expert that Lt. Stone contacted. You think the hair might still be viable?"

"Maybe, but what good will it do us, we have nothing to compare it to. Jane Doe's body was cremated and there were no databases for comparison in the 70's."

"We might find a familial link."

"True but how does it help? The daughter whose hair was in the locket was only a baby at the time, she wouldn't know anything, even if she is still alive."

"True, but at least you could finally put a name on her grave."

For Steve, the prospect of getting at least partial closure on the case was too compelling not to pursue. "Tell you what, if you can get a number on what's his name, the DNA guy that Mike contacted. Dr…."

"Dr. Lewis"

"I'll see if I can track down the evidence box. I still have a few contacts in the department."

"Deal."

They parted ways when they got back to office, each to their own research. Steve searched his desk for the number for the Commandant of The Academy, to whom he owed a call. After a few minutes, he located the pink message slip stuck under the desk blotter. He really didn't want to give a speech at graduation, but of all the people Steve knew at the department, he had the most clout.

The phone rang several times before a gruff sounding man answered.

"This is Greer, what can I do for you?"

"Answering your own phone these days, Doug, that's a switch this is Steve Keller."

"Steve, how are you? I could say the same about you, returning your own calls, where's the lovely Catherine?"

"On another project, I'm just trying to tie up some loose ends."

"So are you finally going to cave in and speak at graduation. I mean really Keller, half of the kids who come through here have been in your classes."

"I'm leaning that way, but I have a price."

"Figures, so lay it on me."

"Steve laughed at a phrase he hadn't heard in a while. Doug, you are showing your years with that!

Captain Doug Greer laughed with his old friend, "Speak for yourself old man, I'm not the one retiring. So tell me, what's it going to cost me for 20 minutes of your time?"

"I need access to an evidence box from a case that Mike and I had back in the day. Only one we never put to bed."

"Cold case, huh, you really are tying up loose ends. You got a name or the case number?"

Steve opened his satchel and took out Mike's notes. "Jane Doe case but I have the number."

It took a few minutes for Cpt. Greer to dig up the info on his laptop. "You know, they have that new cold case squad working out of the Hall of Justice, you might want to give them a ring.*"

"Yeah I did read something about that, but I'm following a trail of breadcrumbs my old partner left. I feel like it's something I want to follow up on."

"I hear ya. It's hard to let go. Ok, I've got the info. The original material is still at Bryant Street."

"You're kidding me, I thought they moved everything over to the new headquarters in the Mission District."

"No, the old stuff is still there, down in the basement, but you're gonna need authorization to get it."

"Your point, Doug? That's part of the deal. I promise if anything comes of it, I'll report it, Ok?"

"Sure, why not, what are friends for."

"Extortion and favors, I owe you one."

"Yes you do. I'll collect in August."

Steve hung up the phone and entered the graduation date on his phone's calendar. He was about to call it a night when he had a thought.

He fired up his computer and opened up Facebook, searching for Cameron Millers. It was a long shot, but it wouldn't take any effort on his part. The search results came up with half a dozen in the greater San Francisco area. He clicked on each page in turn until he opened the page of a 60-something artist who lived in San Leandro.

Clicking on the man's album, he scrolled through the photos. It was a little awkward, trolling someone's life: weddings, vacations, birthday parties, etc. He was almost at the end of the album when he saw it. A scan of a yellowed, square instamatic photo. What were the odds of him finding an image of a skinny, young man with matted hair. It was without a doubt  _his_ Cameron Miller.

Steve ran his fingers through his hair and then slapped his hand on the desk, agape at the discovery.  _Well all right._ He thought of all the shoe leather he and Mike had expended on the case, and here was their witness after a few clicks of a mouse. He switched over to Google and found the online yellow pages, easily finding a listing for Wasted Youth Studios, LLC.

He looked at his watch. It was going on 6pm. He was about to go out and make sure Catherine realized what time it was when she entered the office wearing a Cheshire cat smile.

"I found him!"

"So, did I," Steve responded cryptically.

_***San Francisco does operate a cold case squad out of the Hall of Justice at Bryant Street. It is made up of retired officers and Lab techs.** _


	12. Chapter 12

True to his word, Captain Greer had greased the skids for entry into the building and the evidence room. Signing in, Steve was given a temporary ID by an officer who didn't even look old enough to shave, let alone carry a gun. It was hard for him to remember ever being that young.

Over the past 48 hours, an old feeling had re-awoken in him. Steve had almost forgotten the sensation, but there it was, as if he had only left the streets a few days ago. The thrill of the chase, when pieces of the puzzle started to drop into place, made him feel more alive than he had in quite a while. Along with that feeling came a strong dose of melancholy, knowing he wasn't sharing it with Mike.

The corridors of Bryant Street were thick with memories, despite multiple renovations. Steve could never enter the building without being accompanied by the ghosts of his best friend. As he walked down the hall towards the elevator, he was greeted by more than a few officers, mostly former students. He was relieved that many were wearing name tags, as their names had slipped into the either over the years. When he reached the elevator lobby, he was greeted by a 30 something officer in khakis and a polo shirt. This one, at least, he remembered as being one of the best and brightest to come through the criminology program at Berkeley.

"Dr. Keller, it's great to see you. How long has it been?"

"At least 10 years, Paul. Looks like the job is treating you right. Congrats on your promotion, Homicide is the big leagues."

"Thanks, Doc. It's been my goal since I sat in your intro class all those years ago."

Steve was flattered. Helping people find their path was one of the best things about teaching, and the part he would miss the most after he retired.

When Steve said nothing Paul spoke again, "Captain Greer didn't give me much info, so tell me why we are going into the dungeon."

Steve gave him the Sparknotes version of the cold case.

"Primarily, we are looking for a locket. There is a hair sample we think is Jane Doe's daughter. I also want to see if the trace from under her nails and her uniform have been maintained properly. The expert we contacted at the FBI thinks he might be able to get something from those samples if they were dried before they were stored."

Paul was skeptical, "If you have nothing to compare it to, why bother?"

"We are hoping for a familial match, Blood from the uniform to the hair in the locket, so that we can, at the very least, ID the victim."

Steve shared how Catherine had tracked down Dr. Lewis, who surprisingly enough, was still at the FBI lab in Quantico. The Dr. didn't recall ever being contacted by Mike Stone, but that didn't dampen his enthusiasm for the challenge. After a quick case brief, he suggested testing the samples from under the victims nails and the blood on the uniform, as well as the locket, even though there were no databases from the era. You never knew which sample might yield results or where it might lead.

"That's a long shot. Why don't you just give it to our lab?"

"With as backed up as I assume they are, do you think they would give much priority to this case? I'd kinda like to finish this before I'm, uh dead."

"Fair point," Paul said with a chuckle, "but why all the interest after so much time has passed?"

The question gave Steve pause. "That's a really good question, and I wish I could give you a really good answer, but honestly, I don't even know why. I'd pretty much forgotten about the case until I found out my old partner perseverated on it long after he retired. I guess it just lets me feel close to him again."

They reached the evidence lock up and were given directions to the oldest section of the archive. Splitting up, it was several minutes before Steve found the correct box.

"Paul, I got it." Steve called as he pulled the dusty box from the shelf.

"Good, let's sign for it and get the hell out of here. This place give me the creeps and I'm sure the mold down here isn't doing my sinuses any good."

Steve knew he shouldn't be the one to handle the evidence, so he passed the box to Paul as they reached the outside door. Once it was properly signed out, they went back to Paul's Office.

It was a far cry from the cramped, antiquated space that he and Mike had occupied back in the day. Laptops on every desk and not a typewriter or landline in sight.

An older man emerged from the office and caught Paul's attention.

"Inspector Farrell, we in the Michelin Guide now? Who the hell is that? You know I don't like tourists in my squadroom."

Paul put the box on the desk and urged Steve forward.

"Sir, this Dr. Steven Keller, chair of the Criminology Department at Berkeley. He also used to work here back in the day. He was one of Mike Stone's partners."

"The Mike Stone?"

"Yes Sir. Glad to see that name still has a little cachet around here." Steve extended his hand to the Lieutenant. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I'm sorry Dr. Keller, but you know how it is."

"Please call me Steve. Yes I understand. I remember how Mike used to feel about his bullpen and that was way, way, way before 9/11."

"To what do we owe the visit?"

Paul pointed to the evidence box and gave the Lieutenant a quick lowdown on the case. While intrigued at the possibility of solving a forty year old case, he was blunt with his inspector.

"Farrell, don't get caught up in this, we need you in the here and now. Professor Keller, I appreciate your interest but this would be better handled by the Cold Case Squad, don't you think?"

"Sir, I promise not to take too much of his time, I was just making sure we didn't have any issues with the chain of evidence. Capt. Greer though Paul here was a good choice to help me send this off for testing. I'll be out of his hair in an hour."

The mention of the Captain's involvement seemed to soften the Lieutenant's attitude.

"Again I'm sorry Steve, but you know how overworked these guys are. I hope this all works out. It's always good PR when we get one of these old mysteries cleared up. Paul, if the testing yields anything useful, this one will be yours.*"

The Lieutenant turned to leave and added, "Keller, I would love to sit down over a beer one day and hear some tales from the old days."

"I'd like that Lieutenant." Steve said politely, not sure he liked to think of his time on the forces as  _the old days._

Paul broke the seal on the box and opened the lid. Steve was careful to look, but not touch, as the inspector pulled the evidence bags from the container. After locating the locket, scrapings and uniform, he filled out a card inventorying what had been taken and put it in the box.

"We'll keep this in our evidence locker until we get results," He said as he resealed the box.

Steve produces a mylar Fed-X sleeve, pre-addressed and flagged as "Biological Samples" by Catherine. Paul slipped the evidence bags inside and sealed the envelope. Neither liked the idea of trusting the samples to a courier, but it was their only option.**

00000

Catherine jumped up as soon as Steve came into the common area of the department, a look of excitement plain on her face.

"Don't get too comfortable, Doc. We have an appointment."

"We do?"

"Yup, Do you want to drive or shall I."

"I'll drive, where are we going?"

"San Leandro, I'll give you directions on the way."

"You contacted Miller?"

"Not, Miller, but his associate. He told me Cameron would be in the studio this afternoon and would love to talk to us."

"He would love to talk about a 40 year old homicide?"

"Not exactly…" Catherine paused dramatically. "Happy to talk to a wealthy couple about the money we want to spend on a large commission."

"Sneaky, but effective. You sure you want to waste your time driving over there. He may take one look at us and refuse to talk. We probably should kick this over to the cops."

"You said it yourself, they won't look at it until the DNA results come back."

"True. But I was gonna finish up with my office today." He tried to put her off, but her excitement about interviewing the artist was palpable, and contagious. She really would have been a great cop.

"Come on Dr. K, you know you want to talk to him."

"Yeah I do, but you should have waited till we got the DNA back, he could be our killer."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Well no…"

"Just think, I get to tag along on a real live witness interview by a crack detective, I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Yeah, about that, you do remember that was forty years ago."

"I'm sure you haven't lost a step."

"Ok, ok, you've convinced me, but do me a favor, let me do the talking. We are treading on some very shaky ground."

Her pout at his response was adorable. "Anything you say, Doc."

As much as he wanted to figure this case out, it had been a long time since he interviewed a witness or suspect in anything but an academic setting. He had a really bad feeling about this.

00000

Steve cut down MLK Way to the MacArthur Freeway. In another couple of hours, this route would be a nightmare but in the middle of the day, the 15 mile trip to San Leandro took a shade less than 30 minutes.

As they drove to the studio, Steve and Catherine discussed what approach he would take with Cameron Miller. He was convinced this was a bad idea, but he didn't have the heart to dampen Catherine's enthusiasm.

"You know, all bets are off if he recognized me. Even after 40 years, that's a possibility. People tend to remember traumatic events more vividly. So we aren't going to push him. Understand?"

"Got it. So how are you going to play it."

"I think I'll run with the interested art patron to start and see what happens."

Catherine thought about it for a moment before replying. "You really think he might recognize you?"

"Hey anything is possible, and like I say, some parts of life tend to imprint more indelibly than others, even if I now look more like the 'Cryptkeeper' than a SFPD Inspector."

She laughed out loud. "Again with the self deprecation. Why do you do that? You know there are plenty of women who would jump if you looked their way…" she paused for a  _what the hell_ decision, "including me."

Steve was stunned. When he had first started teaching at Berkeley, he had been as Mike put it, quite the ladies' man. He had taken full advantage of the target rich environment. Even during his marriage, there were always plenty of opportunities. It was one of the things that doomed the relationship from the start and one of his greatest regrets. As the years went on, however, that part of his life had settled down considerably.

At 72, it really did come as a surprise that women still thought about him in that way. And that Catherine did, too. Now what?

He was formulating a response to her revelation when the conversation was shelved by their arrival at 2100 Merced, just off Marina Boulevard. It was an old, single level, brick industrial building that had been subdivided into studio spaces.

They got out of the car in silence and walked the length of the building until they found the door marked "Wasted Youth Studios." Upon entering, any question about Miller's recollection of the events forty years ago was instantly answered. An oversized oil painting graced the foyer. Steve had no trouble recognizing the face as their Jane Doe.

Catherine nearly ran into Steve's back when he came to an abrupt stop, staring intently at the artwork.

"What is it, Doc?"

"It's her."

"Her who?"

"Donna or Irina or Jane or whoever, It's our victim."

A young man entered the foyer area. From his age and Steve's foray on Facebook, he knew this was not Cameron MIller.

"Can I help you?"

Steve was momentarily tongue tied. He wasn't sure if it was from the portrait or Catherine's revelation in the car. Catherine picked up the slack.

"Yes you can, I think I spoke to you yesterday. Jerry, Right?"

"That's me, You must be Mr. and Mrs. Keller."

When Steve turned toward Catherine and raised an eyebrow, she grabbed his hand and continued," Yes. We saw some of Cameron's work in the  _Chronicle_  last month. We just had to come and take a look, didn't we honey?"

Steve had to admire the initiative she had taken when researching MIller, but this was not going at all the way he had planned. He felt heat rise in his face.

He turned and patted her hand, giving what he hoped was a convincing smile.

"Absolutely, babe." He was going to speak again but she continued.

"Like how about this one, as you can see, Steve can't take his eyes off it."

 _At least that was true enough_ , Steve thought. He tried, but was unable to give her a  _take it slow and easy_ look. _._

"No can do, this one is not for sale. Dad would never let that one go."

"Cameron Miller is your father?" Catherine asked surprised.

Yep. Why don't you come in and have a seat and a cup of coffee, Dad's not back from lunch yet, but there are a few pieces in the lounge you can look at. I'll give you a yell when he comes in."

He led them to a small waiting area with a battered couch and a coffee pot on a counter. There were several large canvases on the walls and what looked like shrink-wrapped prints in a rack near the corner..

When Jerry Miller was out of earshot, Steve turned to Catherine, "What the hell was that?"

Catherine wasn't sure what he was talking about, the interview or her comment in the car, which she now regretted.  _Why did I just blurt that out?_  She went for innocent.

"Well you weren't saying anything to Jerry, so somebody had to."

"That's not what I'm talking about and you know it."

"Yeah I know. I don't know what I was thinking, but now that I've said it, where do we go from here. In a short while, you're not my boss anymore and I haven't been a coed for a lot of years. Steve, I don't think I want to lose this."

"This?"

"Yeah, this. We have spent 15 years together. Hell, half the time I finish your sentences for you and you know what, I think I want more. And in the past couple of days, I get the feeling that you do to. So go ahead and tell me I'm wrong."

A week ago, Steve was in the final countdown of his academic career, riding his bachelorhood into a comfortable retirement. The recent walk down memory lane and the time spent with Catherine, although totally chaste, had stood that path on its ear.

"Are you going to say anything? You aren't usually at a loss for words." Catherine was worried she had stepped beyond the point of no return. Had she read the situation so wrong?

"I'm trying to figure out what to say. I'm flattered, but you know I'm old enough to be you father. I have grandkids, for Christ sake."

Now Catherine was really nervous, but the door had been opened and there was no going back,

"Your point? Age is just a number. Just be honest with me, I'm a big girl, I can take it. Tell me you've never thought of me as anything other than a admin assistant or a coed and we'll move on. Uncomfortable as hell, but we'll move on."

The silence was excruciating.

_***If new evidence presents itself in a cold case in San Francisco, it can be reopened at the discretion of the officer in charge.** _

_**** It is permissible to send samples by FED-X of US Mail as long as the package is sealed and requires a signature upon delivery.** _


	13. Chapter 13

The chime on the front door broke the silence. Steve looked at Catherine and mouthed  _later_ as Cameron Miller entered the room. She let out a held breath.

"What can I do for you folks? Jerry tells me you are interested in …" he stopped short after looking Steve's way and closed his eyes taking a deep breath, "You're that cop aren't you."

"That was quick, I thought it would take longer for you to recognize me. Name's Steve Keller." Steve stood up and offered his hand. "This is my associate Catherine Wyland."

After shaking both of their hands Cameron began,"Faces are my biz. I can't remember names to save my life, but faces, I'm like an elephant, man. I never forget. Plus I just knew that someone would turn up one day to ask about her." He looked sadly into the middle distance, as if he were reliving a past tragedy.

"You know I'm not a cop anymore, you don't have to talk to us."

"I figured as much, a lot of water under the bridge since she died, but it's time." He went over and got a cup of coffee before he started again. "This is the strongest drug I use anymore, that wasn't the case back in the day, but I think you knew that then."

"We suspected, but continue."

"When I met Irina…

Catherine turned sharply to Steve, he nodded his head,  _ID confirmed._

"...she was still married to that creep. She an Eva were shopping at the Safeway on Market, you know, the one on the Triangle. They used to let me bag groceries for tips. I was doing anything in those days to keep the house and to keep  _sufficiently medicated_. She smiled at me when she gave me a buck tip, but I could see the sadness in her eyes.

We started to chat on a regular basis. Well, as regular as she was healthy enough to come to the store. I wouldn't see her for a while and when I did, she would be healing. Broken arm, black eye, you know. It was easy to tell that someone was using her as a punching bag. One time we went to get coffee and I swear she spent half the time looking over her shoulder. She was so scared all the time."

"Was it her husband?" Catherine asked before Steve could.

""Yeah, at that point it was, but it started when she was a kid. Irina was raised in an orphanage in Leningrad. The stories she told me about how they abused the kids were horrifying. Physically, sexualy, psychologicaly. God, I thought I had it rough, but nobody ever beat on me or raped me. I told her she needed to call the cops on her husband, but she wouldn't do that, she was afraid they would deport her."

"Was she one of the mail order brides from the church?" Steve interjected.

"You guys knew about that back then?"

"Yeah, even the feds knew, but they turned a blind eye to it."

"Well, Irina did it to get out of the USSR. After she aged out of the orphanage, she was working in a fish packing plant 60 hours a weak, living in a concrete block flat with 4 other girls, starving, cold, miserable. When she would date, once the guy found out she grew up in the orphanage, they would drop her cold. She was damaged goods. She told me every day she was there was another day in hell. She had no future."

"How did she get involved in the church immigration scam?"

"That was another way she got taken advantage of. The church was her sanctuary. It was kind of underground, but the priests knew her background and how desperate she was. They fed her a line about how she could marry a nice Russian man in the US and be free. Free my ass, he was a brute. After they were married, it was like she was a slave again. He even made her dye her hair blonde, that's how controlling he was. The church knew what kind of situation they were putting her in, but his family was a big deal and they let her get pummeled." The anger was plain in his voice even forty years later.

"She couldn't go to the cops. They would have turned her in as an illegal and sent her back. She couldn't do that. And he would never divorce her, ever. She was just as trapped here as she was there."

"The only thing that brought her joy was Eva. She loved that little girl. It was the only good thing that had ever happened to her. His family used the child as leverage, too. Whenever she would  _get out of line,_  Mikhail's mother would come and take the child, Irina wouldn't see her for days. It was horrible."

He took a long drink of coffee. Steve thought he was on the verge of tears, so they sat quietly for several moments. Catherine got up and got coffee for herself and Steve. After some time had passed Steve asked, "What changed?"

"I hadn't seen her in a while. When I did, she was a mess and the little girl was gone. When I walked her groceries out to the car, she started to sob. Mikhail had beat her so bad, she was in the hospital. She'd been pregnant, but she lost the baby, a little boy. They told her she couldn't have any more children. It broke her. She confided in one of the nurses that she was being abused, although I'm sure they figured it out. A social worker showed up at the house. You can imagine how that went over."

Catherine let out a choked breath, "His family took the child?"

"Yeah, they took her baby. When Irina got out of the hospital, Eva was gone. She didn't know what happened to her. She decide then and there to run."

"Why didn't she leave the city?"

"Resources. She had none and I was barely staying afloat, I couldn't help her get away, so she decided to hide in plain sight. First thing she did was dye her hair back to its natural color. She crashed with me and mom for a while. Mom was so drunk most of the time she didn't even notice Irina was around."

"How did you get the idea of using your sister's birth certificate?"

"That actually is kind of an odd story. She really wanted to get a job, to help pay her way. Everywhere she went, they wanted her work permit. Even though she was in her twenties, once she dyed her hair back to it's natural brown, she really did look like a teen. She didn't have her green card and no social security card, so she couldn't prove she was old enough to work. She was really depressed."

"We went out to get a pizza one time and the kid at the counter asked her what high school she went to. That's when we got the idea to see if she could enroll in high school. They didn't even question it. When she went to get a work permit, and then a driver's license, she needed a birth certificate, and well, I had one."

"And she became Donna MIller."

"Yep. After she worked the job at Stella's for a while, she managed to get her own place. It was a dump, but I really think she was as happy as she had ever been in her life, or as happy as she could be without her baby."

Steve got up and refilled everyone's cup. After he sat back down, he asked perhaps the trickiest question, "When did you fall in love?"

Cameron stood up and walked out of the room. Catherine looked at Steve. "Now what."

"Now we wait. I had a feeling that this was where it was going to get tough."

"Do you think he'll tell us the rest?"

"I don't know. Love is always difficult to talk about."

"Ya think?" Catherine said with a hint of sarcasm. She still was waiting for an answer to her proposition in the car.

"You kind of ambushed me today. But for now, let's just say that I'm not the only one who is selling themself short. You underestimate your effect on people Ms. Wyland. I'm intrigued."

Catherine raised an eyebrow at Steve's answer as Jerry Miller walked into the room.

"What the hell was going on in here. My dad just left the building in tears. I haven't seen him cry since my mom died. Who are you people?"


	14. Chapter 14

“Where do you think he would go?” Steve answered Jerry’s question with a question.

“Usually, he just goes for a walk. Why is he so upset? Does it has something to do with that painting?”

“Yeah it does, do you know anything about it?”

“No, he refuses to part with it, or talk about it. It drove my mom nuts that he wouldn’t sell it, especially when times were tight. All dad ever said was that it was part of his wasted youth. That’s actually the title of the painting and where the name of the studio came from.”

“Honestly, if he doesn’t want to share the story with you, it’s not our place to talk about it either. How long do you think he’ll be gone? We’d like to finish our conversation with him.”

“I don’t know. When he’s upset, he can walk for hours and believe me, he is as upset as I’ve seen him in a long time. You probably should leave.”

Steve wrote a note on his card and left it with Jerry, “Please give this to him, it’s important. And tell him we might soon know all the answers.”

Catherine and Steve walked out to the car for the drive back to Berkeley, remaining silent for most of the trip.

“Why is it that some people seem to live a cursed life. That poor girl, what did she do to deserve a life like that?” Catherine asked.

“I don’t know. Why did you blow your knee out and end your career before it started. Why did I get shot and leave the force? Bad things happen.”

“I just doesn’t seem fair.”

“I know. Most of the time it doesn’t make sense. Good people suffer. Good people die for no reason at all. Even after all these years I still struggle with what people do to one another. It seems to be getting worse, too. Hell, look at the political climate in this country, not to mention mass shootings, and terrorism foreign and domestic.”

“I agree, but what can we do?” 

“At the end of the day all we could ever do on the force was fight the good fight. When I couldn’t do that anymore on the streets, I tried to spend my life giving people the tools to do it. Who knows.” He took a breath and added, “ I’ll get off my soapbox now.” 

“Do you think he’ll get back to us?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I hope he does. I think he needs to close the book on this as much as we do. If he doesn’t, we’ll wait for the DNA result and contact him again.”

“How did you know that he loved her?”

“How did you not know he loved her? In my experience, nobody holds onto the portrait of a dead girl unless she was very, very, very important to them.”

00000

It was going on 5pm when they pulled up to Boalt Hall. Steve dropped Catherine off at her car. After she pulled out, he had every intention of going home, but decided to go up to the office to finish packing.

His little adventure interviewing a witness after all this time made him keenly aware of how much he missed out on when he retired from the force. He didn’t regret his choice to leave. The near death experience at the hands of a young woman with a gun made it a forgone conclusion. It took years of counseling to defeat the demons he carried from that day. Academia had been good to him, but it had cheated him out a lot of years working the streets with his best friend. 

Trudging up the steps he made a promise to himself and Mike, This time, it’s finished.

He unlocked the door to his office and looked at the mess. It was enough to make him want to turn around and leave, but barring the appearance of helpful elves, no one was going to finish the job for him. 

First up was moving the full boxes out into the hall. He took a Sharpie from the top of his desk and began to mark the crates. When that was done, he ferried them into two piles out in the lobby: one to take home and one to donate. At Catherines insistence, he had called the University’s Law Library and they were, to his surprise, thrilled to accept his archives. 

After about two hours, all that was left was the furniture, his satchel and several full black trash bags. He would get the custodial staff to deal with the trash in the morning. The job was finally done. He went over to the small refrigerator under the window, curious to see what was left.  
He was thrilled to find a couple of bottles of craft beer left over from a recent department mixer. He grabbed one and flopped down on his desk chair.

Or not my desk chair, he thought as a cold blast of hoppy goodness exploded on his taste buds. Without his belongings, the office was neutral, it really wasn’t his anymore. He put his feet up on the desk and closed his eyes. The finality of the situation washing over him like a tsunami. He felt like he was adrift. What was he going to do with the time remaining to him?

His mind wandered to Catherine and what she had said earlier. The packing up process had made him realize how much he was going to miss her and their work on the cold case showed him just how much he enjoyed her company. Was it wise to start a relationship with someone 30 years his junior, probably not. On the other hand, she wasn’t a kid, They knew each other. They had seen each other’s best and worst over the years, so a lot of the getting to know one another bullshit was complete. Plus, if he was honest with himself, he had always been attracted to her, but the timing had been wrong. 

Now, she had made it very clear that she was interested in pursuing, what? He wasn’t sure. Love? Sex? Marriage? He didn’t know what she wanted, he didn’t even know what he wanted. How the hell did this happen. He got up and grabbed another beer.

While thinking about relationships, his mind went back to Irina. He was sure that Cameron had loved her deeply. Did she return that love? Was the baby his? When Steve first met Miller in the 70’s he was clearly not a man in love, He was a skinny drug addict in need of a fix, What happened? At some point his inner dialogue turned into deep sleep.

00000

The smell of burnt coffee assaulted his nose. MIke sat down heavily in the chair and put two mugs down on Steve’s small industrial desk. 

“The tin is a little light, you got any change?”

“When do you ever have any change, Mike?”

“He touched a finger to the side of his head, “You’re finally learning. Maybe someday you’ll be a real detective!” Mike laughed deeply and long at his silly jibe. God, Steve had missed that laugh.

The clack of typewriters and ringing of phones punctuated the general din in the room. He was in the bullpen. He looked at his hands on the typewriter keys, but they weren’t the hands of a 30 year old, they were the hands of an old man, complete with age spots, what the hell? 

“So what do you think, buddy boy, was it the husband? Was she hiding from him?”

“That’s my thinking. Those two Russian hanging around the coffee shop asking questions, maybe they worked for Petrovic, not the KGB.

“Could be, Cameron said the family was connected, maybe they were mob connected.”

“Hold on Mike, how do you know all of this, we couldn’t find him back in the day?”

“It’s your dream, you are calling the shots and you have all the information in you head.”

It had been a long time since he’d had a lucid dream. He wanted this time with Mike to last as long as possible, so he kept the conversation alive.

“That’s my thinking. I just can’t figure out how they found her, her cover was great.”

“What about the little girl, Eva wasn’t it?”

“You think she went back looking for the child. Why expose yourself?”

“Come on, you know the answer to that, you would have walked through fire for your girls, wouldn’t you. You are lucky your divorce was so amicable, with what you did, she could have taken those kids away from you forever.”

Steve considered what MIke said, knowing it was true. “So she was in the neighborhood looking looking for Eva and got spotted. That explains why the bus driver picked her up near the Church. I think it also explains why she got her driver’s license, she was going to rabbit with the little girl.”

“I’d bet a cup of coffee on that.”

“Ah, Mike, I usually pay for the coffee.”

“So you do, boy wonder, so you do,” Mike laughed again.

It was like music to Steve’s ears.

Mike got serious again, “What are you going to do about Catherine?”

“What do you mean, ‘What am I going to do about Catherine?’ You barely know her.”

“You know, growing old alone is hell. After I retired, if you hadn’t been around, I would have gone stir crazy. You think your work family is going to stay close, but they don’t. Kids and grandkids are nice, but they have their own lives. You need somebody. I’m not saying you need to get married again or that you need a sexual relationship...”

Steve blushed, “MIKE!”

“Oh get over it, you’re past 70. I don’t even know if that’s an option for you anymore.”

Steve put his fingers in his ears, “La, la, la, la. I’m not listening.”

Mike grabbed Steve’s wrists and pulled his hands away from his ears, “Stop it, you’re being ridiculous. All I’m saying is if you decide to go forward, and I really think you should, don’t hurt her. She is a wonderful woman and deserves the best. Don’t screw it up.”

00000

The smell of hazelnut coffee assaulted his nose. A serious feeling of disorientation followed. He opened his eyes to see Catherine shaking her head and profering a mug of coffee. 

“Aren’t you a little mature for all nighters, Doc?”

Steve grabbed the mug and attempted to right himself in a dignified manner. He was only partially successful. Wow, what a dream.

“I’m old. I fell asleep. Get used to it.”

“We’re a little surly this morning. Anything I can do to help?” There was a smile in her voice.

“Actually a lot of things…” He said it before he even thought about how it sounded. At some point during the night, during his dream conversation with Mike, his brain had made the leap. Her’s was a nice face to wake up to.

She blushed. “Um…”

“Nice retort, Ms. Wyland. How ‘bout you get out of here until and let me wake up a bit.”

“Sure, um, sure.” She was still a little shocked. Things had certainly changed since yesterday. She smiled and closed the door on her way out.

Steve stood and stretched. Sleeping in a desk chair was not recommended for the over 70 set. He finished his coffee and ran a comb through his hair. The rest of his personal items had already been removed from his office, so the balance of his morning regimen would have to wait until he he got home.

When he came through the door, Catherine was sitting at her desk in the hub of the lobby, talking on the phone. He set his cup on one of the boxes by the door and headed for the rest room. Thank God he still had a tooth brush stashed in the cabinet.

He considered heading right out the door and home for a shower but he had a few final meetings this morning that would not wait. He glanced in the mirror. The face that looked back was someone he barely recognized. Even though time had been kind to him, he was still a senior citizen. He must be crazy to consider seeing Catherine socially, but if MIke thought it was a good idea.... 

He walked back to the lobby, picked up his mug and went to the coffee pot for a refill, before coming back to Catherine’s desk. She was still on the phone. Before he could turn back towards his office, she held up a her index finger and looked over her reading glasses while mouthing, hang on one minute.

As he was waiting for her to finish, it occurred to him that he was starving. He knew he had breakfast yesterday, but was pretty sure he hadn’t eaten the rest of the day. Catherine hung up the phone.

“That was HR. They need you to stop by sometime today or tomorrow for your exit interview and to sign your retirement package. I thought you already took care of that?”

“No, I’ve been dragging my feet, just like I have been with cleaning out the office, but now that it’s done, I guess I need to seal the deal.” 

Steve looked at his watch, it was going on 9am. “What time is my appointment with the President?”

“9:30. Are you going like that?

Steve looked down at his slept-in chinos and oxford shirt. Fortunately, he had hung up his blazer when he came in last night.

“Why the heck not? What’s he going to do, fire me?”

“It’s not exactly up to your usual standards, is it?”

“True, but you know what? I’m retired.”

“Touche. Did you manage to eat anything yesterday after you got back.”

“Nope, I’m starving.”

“You certainly live a charmed life, Dr. K.”

“Steve. If we are going to do this, you’re going to have to get used to calling me Steve.”

She reached down and produces a bakery bag, “I stopped at the bakery this morning, there’s a bear claw in there for you, I figured for your last day, well, happy retirement!”

“What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“I don’t know, but you are a lucky man, Steve Keller.”

As he broke the pastry and gave her half, he replied, “You have no idea.”


	15. Chapter 15

The meeting with the President lasted till almost noon. It ended with Steve promising to turn up at the testimonial reception that was being planned in his honor. He was loath to do it, but you just didn’t turn this man down. He hoped Catherine would agree to go as his “date.” It seemed like a safe way to begin socializing as a couple. She knew everyone and would have attended anyhow. He was kind of kind of jazzed to see her in something other than her office “uniform” of jeans, demure cut blouses and cardigans.

 

From the President’s office, he headed directly to HR. Two excruciating hours and multiple signatures later, he was officially retired. Walking up to his office for the last time, he was tired and more than a little sad. His intent was to pick up his satchel, turn in his keys and arrange to have his personal belongings sent to his home, but his coworkers had another idea. Although he had a collegial relationship with his fellow professors and TA crew, Steve was really in no mood to celebrate.

 

Another hour and a half passed before he could extricate himself from the well wishers, finally begging off another round of drinks and saying his goodbyes. Nearly 40 years of his life had been spent at Berkeley, and it was over in an instant. Steve pulled Catherine out of the lobby, through the door and over to the landing on the staircase.

 

“Before you say anything,“ Catherine began defensively, “This was the minions’ idea.”

 

“I assumed as much. You know how I feel about this stuff. I just wanted to ask you a question.”

 

She raised an eyebrow, “Ok, what’s up?”

 

“How about you come as my date for the President’s reception on the 6th?”

 

“He finally pinned you down, huh.”

 

“Well, yeah. It’s impossible to say no to the man when you’re in the same room.”

 

“So, like a real date?”

 

“Sort of. You would have been invited anyhow, but yeah I guess a real date.”

 

“Jeeze, we sound like we’re 16 or something.”

 

“No kidding.” Steve chuckled, “But if you would do me the honor of accompanying me, it would make me very happy. Oh, and by the way it’s black tie.”

 

“No kidding, I have to rent a tuxedo?”

 

“Knock it off, you know what I mean.”

 

“Yeah, I do. So we get to be all fancy. If that’s our first date, we can only go downhill from there, right.”

 

“You are something. What do you say?”

 

“Ok.” She leaned over and kissed him with just enough heat to tease. 

 

He put his arms around her so he could return the favor when someone came through the door. They quickly broke apart.

 

An embarrassed TA turned around and when back through the door.

 

“Oh, great. I can just hear the gossip tomorrow. Dr. K and Catherine making out on the staircase.”

 

“Well, if that’s the case,” Steve responded, throwing caution to the wind, “since I don’t work here anymore, maybe we should really give them something to talk about.” He pulled her close and gave her a longer, more passion kiss which she responded to in kind.

 

When they separated, she whispered into his ear, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

 

00000

  
  


Steve was already on the first floor landing when he heard footsteps following him. He turned around and saw Catherine, breathing heavily, proffering a pink message slip. 

 

“I’m sorry, I forgot all about this. It’s from Dr. Lewis. He got your samples. He wants you to call.”

 

Steve took the slip from her hand, stuffed it in his pocket and gave her a peck on the cheek. 

 

“Thank you Ms. Wyland.” he said with a grin.

 

“You are most welcome, Doctor Keller.

 

00000

 

Steve threw his case and keys on the dining room table. He looked at his watch and picked up the landline, dialing Dr. Lewis’ office phone.

 

“FBI Quantico. How may I help you?”

 

“I’m trying to reach Dr. Matthias Lewis.”

 

“I’ll put you,through”

 

“This is Lewis.”

 

“Dr. Lewis, this is Dr. Keller, I sent you samples for a colds case in San Francisco.”

 

“Dr. Keller, it’s an honor. I remember the textbook you wrote from my first year of criminology as an undergrad.”

 

_ Could people just stop making him feel like an old man, for one minute. _

 

“Thank you, I guess that is my enduring legacy to the field, although I’m retired now.” It felt weird to say that for the first time. “So what do you have for me?”

 

“Well, I took a preliminary look at your evidence. I really think I can help you. Your ME at the time did an excellent job at preserving the samples. Bad news is I am totally backed up, it could be a month or so before I can get to your evidence.”

 

Steve was disappointed. After the conversation with Cameron Miller, he felt he was so close to putting this case to bed.  Being pragmatic however, if it had waited 40 years, he assumed it could wait a little longer..

 

“Thank you. Let me know if and when you have something.”

 

00000

 

The first week of his retirement was consumed with completing his overdue book chapter. Having satisfied his publisher for the time being, he took a few days to drive down the coast to trying to clear his head and lift his flagging spirit. There really wasn’t anything like the beach to reset the psyche. He tried to call Catherine a number of time, to solidify their plans for the reception with no luck. He left a message on her voice mail. 

 

When he got back into town, he picked up his tux at the cleaners. Most men he knew hated the dreaded “monkey suit.” He, however, was of the opinion that no matter who you were, men looked great in a tux. He texted Catherine to let her know what time to expect him. He hadn’t spoken to her in a week and was a little concerned that things has changed since they last “spoke.”

 

Steve pulled up at Catherine’s house in El Cerrito. It was small California-style bungalow she had inherited from her parents about 10 years ago.  Exiting the car, he walked up the short path to the door and rang the bell. He’d known Catherine for more than 20 years but was still as nervous as a teenager, it was quite disconcerting.  _ I’m past 70 for God’s sake, this is ridiculous. _

 

She answered the door in a low-cut, emerald green cocktail dress. It just grazed her knee and he could clearly see the scars from her career-scuttling surgery.  He was glad she was confident enough to show them. Black kitten-heeled pumps finished her outfit. Her dark curls were tamed into an elegant upsweep and her face bore minimal makeup applied with a deft hand. Though it was clear she was a mature woman, she was truly a vision.  He was speechless. 

 

“Aren’t you going to say something? This Cinderella bit does take a bit of doing, you know! And I don’t even have a fairy godmother.”

 

“You look fabulous!” Steve recovered himself. “You don’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight, do you?”

 

“That’s better and I’ll ignore the last bit. You don’t look so bad yourself. Never fails, anytime a guy puts on a tux, he looks like James Bond. What have you been up to this week,?I tried to call.”

 

“I finished the chapter and drove down to Santa Barbara. I did try to call.” He looked at his watch, “We better get a move on.”

 

She grabbed a pashmina shawl and a small beaded bag from a side table.

 

“So, what are you going to do with yourself? I’ve never known you not to have a plan.”

 

“I don’t really know. Once I’m done with the book, there isn’t a lot on my plate. One thing I’m considering is trying my hand at a novel. If we can solve Irina’s murder, it would make a hell of a story.”

 

“We?”

 

“Yeah we. Do you think I’m going to cut you out of the rest of the investigation?”

 

“Well I hoped not…”

 

“Nope, we are a team in this. You did most of the heavy lifting online.”

 

“I like the sound of team.”

 

Steve pulled the Lexus up to International House on the Berkeley Campus and dropped Catherine off before parking the car. Built in 1930, it was a splendid example of Craftsman Style Construction. When they entered the door, the dark oak beams were aglow with firelight. A small jazz combo filled the grand entry space with soft background music. 

 

The University President was holding court in the warmth radiated by a large stone fireplace. Steve offered Catherine his arm as they walked to greet him.

 

“Well here comes the man of the hour.” The president said loud enough for the people filling the space to hear.” A smattering of dignified applause rose from the assembly of high powered alumni and corporate donors. “I thought you might try to back out the last minute. Although if I had as lovely an escort as you do, I might have ditched this whole thing myself.”

 

Catherine was not amused. “Come on Brad, we’ve known each other for a long time.” Catherine and the University President were undergraduates together back in the day.

 

“Why Ms. Wyland, you look marvelous.” As an aside, he spoke softly to Steve, “First time I’ve ever seen her out of jeans or sweats. Well done.”

 

“Yo, I’m right here you know…” Catherine replied testily.

 

“Dr. Keller, let me introduce you to some of our benefactors…”

 

“Let us get a couple of drinks first.” Steve smiled and steered Catherine to the bar. He hated political types and particularly political types that objectified woman. 

 

Several professors were sitting at the bar. The platitudes began almost immediately, to Steve’s chagrin. “Let’s get out of here.” 

 

Catherine agreed with her eyes.

 

They got two glasses of Cabernet and exited out the side door to the patio. They were both relieved to see friendly faces from the Criminal Justice School, who had commandeered the outdoor space.

 

The TA who had observed them on the steps gave Catherine and Steve a wry smile and held out her hand to a young man sipping a beer. He reached in his pocket and handed over a crisp five dollar bill. “I was wondering when you two were going to show up. You both look great.”

 

Catherine leaned over and whispered to Steve, “What did I tell you? This is why I tried to call. We’re officially an “item.”

 

Steve shrugged his shoulders and took a sip of wine. He was pleased at the quality. The school had paid for the good stuff for this shindig.

 

The balance of the evening was spent in pleasant conversation and good natured bantering. It was only interrupted when the University President discovered his hiding place and dragged him around like a prized pony to meet all the bigwigs. Catherine was spared the indignity, having excused herself to the ladies room. When Steve finally escaped, he was more than ready to call it a night.

 

Even though she was warmed by several glasses of red wine, Catherine pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders as a cool, damp breeze blew off the bay. Steve wrapped his arm around her shoulders as they walked to the car. Once in the warmth of the vehicle, she turned to Steve and asked, “Now what?”

 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starved. Butlered hors d’oeuvres don’t really cut it for me.”

 

“Count me in,” Catherine responded, “I thought it was just me.”

 

Due the hour, food options were limited. They wound up at an In-N-Out Burger on the north side of town. 

 

“You think we’re a little overdressed for this place?” Catherine laughed as she stole one of Steve’s fries. They seemed to be attracting more than a little attention from a group of giggling teens at the next table.

 

“Let ‘em stare. They don’t know what class looks like. Although, I think we are both going to regret this meal in the morning. It’s been a long time since I ate one of these.” he answered as he lifted his Double-Double.

 

Catherine took a long slurp of Diet Coke from a straw. “So a novel, huh. Intriguing idea. I think Irina’s story needs to be told, but how are you going to approach it. The investigation side or her actual story, you know, the tragedy that was her life.”

 

“That’s a really good question. We need to talk to Cameron Miller again. He hasn’t call the office?”

 

“Nope. Not a peep. Do you want to go out there again?

 

“I don’t think he’ll talk to us again unless we can tell him something, so we wait.”

 

“Wait for what?”

 

“Wait for the DNA results. I forgot to tell you, I called Dr. Lewis. He thinks we have viable samples, but he’s back up and might not get back to us for a while.”

 

After their impromptu meal, Steve drove Catherine back to her place. Exiting the car, he walked around as she was opening the passenger side door.

 

“I would have gotten that for you,” he said as he slammed the door shut.

 

“I’m perfectly capable of opening my own door.”

 

“I know that, but as I have said many times, I’m old school. Mike was a stickler for treating women like they were special and it kinda rubbed off on me, so I guess you’re going to have to get used to it. It’s not about feminism it’s about respect.”

 

“Oh, I think I could get used to being treated special.” she said with a smile. “You want to come in for a brandy? I don’t know about you, but I’m freezing.”

 

“Do you think that’s wise on our first _ date?” _

 

“Look, I’m past forty, you’re older than that, we aren’t teenagers. What do we care if it’s wise or not. Besides, I’m inviting you in for a drink, not into my bed,  _ necessarily.” _

 

“Well since you put it that way…” he laughed and gave her a peck on the cheek while she opened the door. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	16. Chapter 16

Steve woke up with a start. He'd had the strangest dream which ended with Irina calling his name. When he opened his eyes, he was looking into a mass of dark brown curls.

A snifter of brandy had turned into two and ended up with Catherine's beautiful green cocktail dress in a heap on the floor with his tuxedo. It had been a long time between partner's for both of them. But ultimately, lust and desire gave way to slow, tender lovemaking, natural and unfettered by any sense of awkwardness. He hoped that this wasn't a huge mistake. He'd made too many of those over his lifetime. Pushing her hair to the side, Steve kissed Catherine lightly on the neck.

She rolled over and smiled. "You can wake me up like that anytime you want, Doc."

"I think after last night, you really need to call me Steve, don't you?"

"Oh, I don't know, you were just what the doctor ordered last night."

"That was terrible. Are bad one liners part of this deal?"

"Always." She kissed him and looked at the clock, "Shit. I gotta go to work."

She grabbed her robe from the nightstand and wrapped it around herself.

"Why cover up?"

"Because, last night it was dark and we'd both had a couple of drinks..." she swept her hand down the length of her body, "this doesn't look so good by the light of day. I'm not twenty anymore."

"Trust me, no twenty year old could do to me what you did last night."

Catherine blushed, "You're not so bad for an old guy, either," she said cheekily. He threw a pillow at her as she shut the bathroom door.

Steve got up, slipped on his tux pants and dress shirt and went into the kitchen to make coffee.

Cinderella had returned to her workday outfit with still damp hair pulled back in a messy tail. She grabbed the cup of coffee Steve offered and kissed his cheek. "Stay as long as you like, just lock up before you go. I'll give you a call later at home."

Steve grabbed his mug and went into the bedroom, picking up various articles of clothing as he went. He fixed the bed and finished his coffee, washing the mug when he was done.

He drove home in a mental fog. Just a short while ago, he was drifting into the unknown future of retirement. He'd felt old and a little useless as he boxed and labeled his memories. A call from Jeannie had reconnected him to the thrill he used to experience when he was on a case.

And then there was Catherine. Who had time to feel old when a beautiful woman shared his passion for solving a mystery and her bed with him? Retirement was definitely looking brighter this morning.

He pulled in the driveway, looking up at the house he loved. He made a vow to keep it as long as he could. Maybe if he did manage to pen a novel that would actually make some money, he could keep the taxman at bay. He picked up the useless plaque the University had given him last night from the backseat. More junk, he thought as he dumped it in the trash can by the drive. Time to move on.

While he was in the shower, the phone rang. By the time he picked up the cell from the counter, there was no one on the other end. He screened his voicemails. Cameron Miller had called. He quickly dialed Catherine's desk number.

"Good morning, Berkeley Criminal Justice, Catherine speaking, how can I direct your call?"

"Good morning, beautiful."

"I'm sorry sir," Steve could plainly hear the joy in her voice, "that extension is no longer  _available_ , can I direct you to someone else?"

"Cute."

"I thought so. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing on the phone, but if you're free later..." If it was possible to hear someone blush, Steve was sure her head Catherine turn a bright shade of crimson.

"You're evil. What will the minions thinks?"

"That Dr. K got lucky last night… and hopes his luck continues."

"I'm gonna say it again you. are. evil. How am I going to get any work done if you keep this up on the phone?"

"Ok, ok I'll be serious for a minute." He really didn't want to, but the case beconned. "Cameron Miller called back. He wants us to come by so he can tell us the rest of the story."

"Why didn't you say so, I'll grab my purse and…." Steve heard rustling on the other end of the phone.

"Whoa, whoa hold your horses, he can't see us until six. I'll come by and pick you up about five, the traffics going to be a nightmare, then we can grab a bite."

"Sounds like a date." Catherine hung up the phone. Five o'clock couldn't come soon enough.

00000

Catherine was waiting by the curb when Steve pulled up. "We a little anxious?"

She leaned over the center console and kissed him before she spoke. "Worst day ever. They named your replacement."

"Who?" Steve asked as he pulled away from the curb.

"Benson, Oh my God, how am I gonna work for that guy?"

He was stunned. Mark Benson had no business being in a classroom, let alone functioning as department chair. He had been a reasonable teacher at one time, but now he let his TA's do most of the heavy lifting. Not only that, he had a wandering eye and hands. The fact that he still had a job in today's #metoo climate was a miracle. More than once, Steve had tried to get him out of his department, but he seemed bulletproof.

"I'm so sorry. I had no idea he was even in the running. I recommended Dr. Lake."

"She would have been fine, But Benson, ugh. I wonder who he has dirt on?"

It was a valid question, but Steve didn't have a valid answer.

"Guess I'm gonna have to look for a new job."

"You'd really go that far?"

"Farther. The man's a pig."

"If it helps, I can write you a splendid recommendation."

"Right, no conflict of interest there."

She was right, after last night, ethics forbid him from writing the letter, even though she had been his good right hand for many years. "That sucks."

"You're damn right it does. How am I going to get a job without a recommendation from my boss of the last 15 years."

He reached over and rubbed her shoulder. "We'll figure it out, ok?"

She leaned her face on his hand. "Ok."

Suddenly, some of the sparkle from last night dimmed. As wonderful as the evening had been, every action produced consequences.

00000

The area around Wasted Youth Studios was deserted. They banged on the locked door until Cameron Miller undid the bolt.

He looked like he hadn't slept since they'd spoken. As they entered the lobby, he stared at the painting of Irina. When he turned, there were tears in his eyes.

"It's my fault she's dead." He said matter of factly and walked into the other room.

Steve looked at Catherine and shrugged his shoulders, not knowing what to make of Miller's latest statement.

He was sitting on the couch with his head in his hands when they came in the door.

They both sat down and waited until Cameron was ready to speak.

"You were right. I loved her and as much as she could, she loved me too. She was so broken when we met, and so was I. We just completed each other.

We had been together about ten months. I'd cleaned up my act, stone cold sober. We were as happy as people like us can be. I don't know how it happened, the doctors said it was impossible, but she was pregnant. She was elated. After Eva was taken and she lost the little boy, it was like a miracle to her. I totally freaked out. We were in no position to have a baby. I told her to get rid of it. She told me she never wanted to see me again. The last thing I saw was pain in her eyes, pain I had caused..

I tried to get her to take me back, but I'd hurt her too much. This child was a gift and I'd refused it. She couldn't even look at me. She started to go back to the old neighborhood."

"Russian Hill?"

"Yep. She would take the bus down. She was looking for Eva. That baby was the only person in the world who never hurt her. I followed her sometimes, trying to get her to talk to me, but it was too late."

"Do you think somebody figured out who she was?"

"I guess that's what happened. Then she either wouldn't go back or he found out she was pregnant by another man. Either way it was a death sentence. She'd told me what a bastard he was."

"Is that when you fell off the wagon?"

"Yeah. I'm not proud of myself, but I couldn't live without her in my life. When you guys came to the door looking for Donna, everything blew sky high. I knew she was dead even before you opened your mouth. And Mom, that sent her over the edge."

Steve started to speak, feeling culpable for Mrs. Miller's death, but Cameron stopped him.

"It wasn't your fault. She wouldn't have lasted long anyway. Losing a child and a husband, and having a son who was a waste of life. There wasn't any hope left in her. Hindsight being what it is, I think if I'd told her about Irina and the baby, it would have saved her. It would have saved all of us. She loved kids and could have been a grandmother. She would have really dug that."

"Where did you go? We looked for you but it was like you evaporated."

I had a buddy, Carlos who worked at the same bakery that Irina did. He didn't know the whole story, but he knew we were together for a while.

I went to his house after my mom OD'd. He was losing his mind. He was in the US illegally and didn't want to get sent back to Guatemala. He paid someone to ditch his car in San Diego and he and I hitched to Canada. I had some friends up there who left the US to avoid the draft. They put us up. I dried out and started painting. It took a few years, but I finally got my life back together. Got married, had Jerry and opened this studio. Carlos is still up in Toronto. Owns a big bakery, Canadian citizen and everything."

Steve thought about how close Mike and he had been to solving this back in the 70's. Had they managed to stop Ramirez from running and by extension, found Cameron, they could have put it together, he was sure.

Miller led them back to the lobby and to the painting.

"So there she is. She is my reminder to do right by people. If I'd only… well you know. It could have turned out so differently."

Catherine and Steve left in silence. There was nothing left to be said.

They stopped at a small bistro on Marina Blvd., although neither of them was particularly hungry. After several quite minutes, Steve spoke.

"I know it's sad, but you can't let it get to you. That was my biggest problem back when I was on the force. Mike helped me conquer it, to a point. It's like I said the other day, bad things happen to good people."

Catherine looked at him with red rimmed eyes. "How can you be a human being and not be affected by that story?"

"I didn't say it wouldn't affect you, you just can't let it paralyze you ability to do your job. It's a real tightrope act sometimes."

They ate the remainder of their meal in silence and did not speak again until they were back in the car.

"You want to come back to my place? I really don't fancy being alone tonight. She didn't respond. He knew he was having a hard time with Cameron's story and he was pretty sure Catherine was as well.

They sat on his porch, under a blanket, sheltered in each other's arms. The view of the Bay and San Francisco glimmering in the distance. Neither said a word.


	17. Chapter 17

Catherine heard the sound of the trash truck rumbling up the street a beat before Steve. The sun was already above the horizon and her hair was damp from the morning dew. They'd fallen asleep out on the porch, sheltering each other from not only the chill, but from the cruelness the world had dished out to Irina Petrovic and Cameron Miller.

"Thank you," she said as she wiped the sleep from her eyes.

"For what?"

"For knowing what I needed last night. Nothing cures a wounded soul like a sympathetic touch. You are really something Steve Keller." She stood up and stretched before bending down to kiss him on the forehead.

She looked at her watch and sighed. There was not enough time to get to her place, change and get to work on time.

"I guess somebody gets to do the walk of shame this morning. You think anyone at work will notice that I have the same clothes on as yesterday?"

He smiled at her. She looked beautiful in the early morning sun, despite her mussed hair and rumpled clothes. "It's nothing I haven't done before."

"Yeah, no kidding, but let's face it, you were quite the tomcat back in the day. I have a reputation to protect, especially with the new boss. Wouldn't want to give him any ideas."

Steve was about to argue his virtue, but thought better of it. "I'm sure it will be ok. Honestly, I'll bet nobody even notices."

"Right, we'll see. You got anything to eat around here? I'm starved."

The adjourned to kitchen for a breakfast of tea and toast before she left for work. After her departure, Steve had a job to do. He went to his office and found the University directory. He felt bad for leaving Catherine in a lerch. Even if he couldn't write her a letter of recommendation, that didn't mean he couldn't use his contacts at the school to see if anybody needed a great department administrator.

The job was surprisingly easy. Several of his colleagues were very interested in adding her to their staffs. Now the question was would she accept his help in getting a new job.

00000

Catherine stopped in the mail room to pick up the department's snail mail on the way up to her desk. She'd freshened up as best she could at Steve's house before coming to work. Sleeping outside always made her feel a little grungy, not that she would have traded the evening for a night spent in her own bed. Steve had been sensitive enough to know exactly what to do last night after listening to Cameron Miller's story and finding out that her own future at Berkeley was a tenuous thing. While it was not as exciting or exhilarating as the night before last, it was in many ways more satisfying.

When she got to her desk, she separated the mail into piles and shoved it into the cubby holes earmarked for each professor. This wasn't technically her job, but it was a mindless activity that helped her focus in the morning. She took Steve's mail and dropped it into a tote, planning on delivering it personally after work. She still half expected him to walk through the lobby door, not willing to accept that he had really retired.

Dr. Benson came out of Steve's old office and walked over her desk, eyeing her less than polished appearance. It was a surprise that he beat her into the office. She was almost always the first one to arrive in the morning.

"A little late this morning, Catherine? Looks like you had a rough night."

"No, this is when I usually get in and as far as my night, it's none of your business. Is there something you need?"

"Look, I know you were chummy with Dr. Keller and he ran kind of a loose ship here, but that's about to change. I expect you here by 7:30 and I expect you to dress professionally, not look like you slept in your clothes."

"Anything else?"

"Yes, there is. When you get your act together, make some coffee."

Catherine nodded and bit her tongue. Her new reality had not begun well. After Benson returned to his office, she took out her to do list and wrote "find new job" in large letters at the bottom. She'd be damned if she'd work for someone who demanded that she make his coffee.

00000

After a trip to the gym, mostly to let the cleaning lady do her thing, Steve came back into his home office. He pulled Mike's notes to see if he missed anything, particularly about Mikhail Petrovic. After his phantom conversation with Mike and listening to the end of Cameron's story, he was certain that Irina's estranged husband was responsible for her death. Unfortunately, there were no new revelations in the notes. Unless the DNA yielded results, he couldn't prove anything.

He spent a few minutes going through his emails. A couple of offers for speaking gigs caught his attention, the one at the University of Hawaii seemed particularly appealing, now that he had time. Wondering if Catherine had ever been there, he copied the contact number into his notebook. There was also a request from the FBI Academy in Quantico. Maybe he could have a face to face with Dr. Lewis and speed up his results. He deleted the rest of the offers.

After checking voicemails, Steve called his publisher and left a message asking for an appointment to pitch a new project. Irina's murder was a engaging story, but right now, it was a story without an end. Steve was also unsure if he wanted to profit from the misery of others.

He looked at the clock above his desk. It was only one pm and he was beat. Three late nights were taking their toll. He made coffee and grabbed his Kindle and his phone before heading out to the porch. This was one luxury he would relish in his retirement, reading in the middle of the afternoon.

The reading portion did not last long. With the warm sun on his face, he didn't get past the first few pages. He awoke when the  _Wicked Witch Theme_  from the "Wizard of Oz" screamed from his phone. His granddaughters had programmed the ringtone for their mother on his phone and he had never bothered to change it.

"Hello, Alice. What's up?"

"Can't a girl just call to see how her dad is?"

"Of course you can sweetie. You know how much I love hearing from you."

"I just wanted to see how your first day of retirement was going."

"Um great. You just woke me up from a nap, if you must know."

"A nap, you? What have you been up to that you need a nap. Who is she?"

"I'm past seventy, I'm not allowed to just take a nap?"

"Yeah, sure. We'll run with that. Do me a favor and just let me know if this one is going to stick around a while. It's a little rough on the kids when they talk in school about Pop-Pop's girlfriends. Speaking of which, Emma's dance recital is Saturday, should I save you a ticket."

"Of course. Is you mother going to be there?" Steve had a cordial relationship with his ex-wife, but he wanted to be prepared.

"Nope, she and Bill are in the Bahamas." Bill Luskus was a good man and stepfather to his girls. He was glad that his ex had found someone after they split. She deserved it.

"Ok, I'll see you Saturday, what time?"

"Three. Love you dad."

"Love you too, Alice, Give Emma and Dana a hug from me."

The phone rang the minute he ended the call from Alice.

"Keller."

"Hi Steve. It's Barty from Houghton Mifflin. This is a first, normally it's me trying to track you down. What can I do for you?"

"Thanks for getting back to me. I think I have a project you might be interested in." Steve gave him a quick overview. "What do you think?"

"Very interesting, sound like it has legs if you figure out who did it. But honestly, it's not my area of expertise, I mostly handle textbooks and technical pubs. Tell you what, let me call a buddy of mine over in general publications and I'll have him get back to you."

"Thanks, I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome Steve, but do me a favor. Don't make me track you down for the next chapter on our project, Ok?"

"Deal. Thanks again."

As he sat at his desk, Steve was thinking about Mikhail and Eva Petrovic. Like Cameron, they has vanished 40 years ago. He had to admit, it was lot easier to accomplish back then, when everyone had a smaller digital footprint. Plus, if Miller was to be believed, Mikhail was connected to the Russian mob and they had a particular talent for making people disappear. He wondered if his Interpol, FBI or ATF contacts had anything relevant. One of the benefits of teaching Criminology for so long was a plethora a law enforcement contacts all over the globe.

He looked at his watch. It was after four Pacific time, too late to call the east coast or Europe. He wrote a few numbers on his call list.

On a whim, he did a Google search on the surname Petrovic. It came up with thousands of hits. He switched to Facebook. Could lightning strike twice? No such luck.

He started thinking about the book. If he could get the project greenlighted, it would take a tremendous amount of work and research to do a credible job, but first he had to clear it with SFPD and more importantly, with Cameron Miller. He'd been through so much already, if he wasn't cool with the idea, Steve would let it drop. Still the thought of a new project that had nothing to do with school was exciting. He added Cameron's number to the growing list of phone calls he had to make in the morning.

While he was planning his next step, the doorbell rang. Catherine stood at the entry with a bag of take out from the Athens Deli and a tote full of mail.

"Have you eaten since this morning?" She said as she walked past him into the kitchen.

"Not sure."

It infuriated her that she had to watch everything she put in her mouth and he frequently forgot to eat. "That's what I thought." She pulled out containers of Greek salad and split an enormous gyro onto two plates. "Eat."

"Yes, Ma'am." He was used to this. "You want something to drink?"

"Sure, what do you got?

He walked over to the fridge and leaned on the door, staring into the cool void. "Water, Beer, Pinot Grigio. I thinks there is also a bottle of Champagne someone sent for my retirement." He rooted around until he found the bottle. "Wow, Dom Perignon, the good stuff."

"Champagne seems a little fancy for takeout."

"No kidding, maybe we should save it for a special occasion." He pulled out two bottles of water.

They sat down on the couch. While they ate, Steve sorted through the mail Catherine had delivered. Most of it went straight into the trash.

"You don't have to deliver the mail, you know, I can come over and get it."

"You probably don't want to do that. Benson made it clear he is the new Criminal Justice Tsar and you are persona non grata."

"That bad?"

"He told me to make coffee and make sure I was 'dressed professionally.' I am so done."

"But you always made coffee, what's the problem?"

"So did you. You didn't tell me to do it, I did it because I wanted to. And when I was busy you weren't above making it and bringing me a cup. It's different."

"I guess. About that, I contacted a few departments…"

"Stop. It's not your problem anymore. I will figure it out."

"But I feel like…"

"Just leave it alone. I don't want or expect you to rescue me. I'll figure it out and if you can't accept that, then I don't see any future in whatever we are doing."

"Honestly, I figured as much. But I had to try."

"I appreciate the effort, but just no."

They finished dinner in an uncomfortable silence. Steve got up and put the dishes in the sink, mentally searching for a safe topic of conversation.

"I talked to my publisher today. He thought the book idea was a interesting possibility."

"Really. That's awesome." Her voice said one thing but her tone said another.

"What?"

"I think it's a hell of a story, but is it right to exploit people like that?"

"I'm with you. I won't do anything unless Cameron is cool with it. He's first on my list of calls tomorrow. Even though it will be a lot of work, I think I need a project so I don't go bonkers."

"If he's good with it, I'm in… if you want my help. It'll help take my mind of work until I get something else."

"Far out. I also got a couple of speaking requests that seem interesting. Ever been to Hawaii?"

"On my salary? No."

"Interested in a working vacation? I could speak, we could hit the beach and then get some work done on the book, or not. Everything is easier in Paradise."

"As appealing as that sounds, are we ready for that?"

"It's not next week. They're talking about the beginning of next semester in September. Hopefully we will have DNA by then. I also got a request from Quantico. Maybe I can go and get some facetime with Dr. Lewis." He added, " As far as not being ready to go on vacation together, you know I'm not getting any younger..."

"I know, it's just, lets take it day to day and see where we are heading."


	18. Chapter 18

June turned to August. Cameron Miller had been supportive of the book idea. He didn't even care if he came off like a jerk. He wanted Irina's story told.

Steve and Catherine were spending the bulk of their free time together. The book project had taken on a life of its own and Steve was as happy as he'd ever been. He never realized how much he had missed having a partner. He had loved his wife, but she never shared his passion for solving mysteries nor really been his  _best friend_ , that was where Mike had come in. In the years since Mike died, he had no one to share that part of his life. Catherine's wit, companionship and enthusiasm for the chase brought back a facet to his life he hadn't realized was absent.

Somehow, she managed to find the orphanage where Irina was raised. It would probably take a trip to St. Petersburg to get the info they needed, but it was a start. She had also tracked down the two FBI agents who handled the Russian Mob in San Francisco back in the day. One was dead, but the other was retired in the Las Vegas area. They were scheduled to go there next weekend for an interview. The third discovery was the most amazing to Steve, a high ranking priest from the Russian Orthodox church who was willing to talk to them.

Steve had broken out the old IBM Selectric to type up their notes into a viable first chapter. Catherine nearly fell on the floor laughing when she saw it on his desk. He persisted. She could scan it into a word document when he was done. It just felt right to compose the story on the antiquated office equipment. Between the two of the them the first chapter/proposal was ready.

The alarm went off and Catherine reached over Steve to smack the infernal device. She stopped on the way back to her side of the bed to give him a tender kiss. He pulled her close and stroked her back.

"You keep that up and I'll never make my plane."

"Well we couldn't have that, could we Dr. Keller."

She tried to stand up, but he held her back, revelling in the closeness that had developed in the past two months. He trailed a row of kissed down her neck and tangled his hand in her hair.

She sighed and rolled free. "You know I could take you to the airport. Benson's on vacation, thank God."

"It's ok, I already scheduled Uber to pick me up. But I need to get a move on."

This time it was Catherine who held  _him_  back. She really didn't want to let him go. For the first time in a long time, she was happy. And for the first time in her life, she was in love. She realized he wasn't a young man, but she had every intention of enjoying whatever time they had together. She straddled him as he made one more half-hearted attempt to get up.

After they finally made it out of bed, Steve took a quick shower and Catherine made coffee. While the Keurig did its thing, she took one last look at the working document Steve was taking to New York. He had a meeting at Houghton-Mifflin to pitch the book. They were both hopeful they would get the green light to continue the project.

After New York, Steve was headed to DC. He had agreed to speak to the incoming class at the FBI academy and also had a dinner planned with Dr. Lewis. Hopefully, he would get some good news.

"You ready for this?" she asked as she smooth his silver hair.

"You bet I am. With the work we've done, maybe we can get enough cash so you can quit your day job."

"Your lips to God's ears but I doubt that will happen until they are convinced you have an ending. I just want you to come back quickly. I am going to miss you."

"It's just a couple of days. Are you staying here or are you going to your place?"

"My place, I need to swap out some clothes."

"Why don't you just move in here?"

"Let's not go there again, I'm not quite ready...yet." A horn sounded in the drive and she kissed him goodbye. "Good luck, call me when you hear something."

00000

As Catherine had predicted, the rep at the publishers, though impressed with the story, was hesitant to provide anything more than a small stipend until he was sure the mystery could be solved.

"Where are you?"

"I'm at LaGuardia waiting for the Shuttle to DC. What are you up to?"

"Right now, I'm trying to assign TAs for next Semester. Do you think it would be really obvious if all Benson's TA's were male?"

"Yes, but it would also be prudent. They really need to get rid of that guy. He has the gender sensitivity of a T-Rex."

"After we are done with this investigation, maybe that should be our next project."

"You keep thinking up things to do and I will never have a chance to get bored in retirement, that's for sure. My calendar is more crowded than it was when I was working."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Absolutely not, I'm loving the work and, of course, spending time with you."

"Nice save. I was getting a little worried about my place in this brave new world of yours."

"Thank you. I try."

Cather laughed and so did Steve. She heard the PA announce his flight over the phone.

"GO, find things out. And good luck with your speech. Love, you."

"Love you, too." Steve replied before he hung up.

Catherine stared at the phone. Steve had been dancing around the "L" word but when he finally said it, it had come out as naturally as breathing.

00000

The 36 mile Lyft ride from Reagan National Airport to Quantico was a murderous two hours on US Rt. 95 at rush hour. It had taken him less time to fly from New York City to DC. He was dropped at the facility's security gate to wait for his escort. He considered calling Catherine again.

On the flight, Steve had thought about his last words to her on the phone. Once they escaped his lips, there was no taking them back. They had slipped out so easily. After careful consideration, he decided there was a reason he said them so readily. He actually meant it. There was more joy and contentment in his life with Catherine in it. He was dialing the phone when a car pulled up.

"You Dr. Keller?"

"Guilty as charged."

"Dr. Lewis is hung up at the lab. He asked me to come and pick you up."

The car ride to the FBI Crime lab was only a few minutes. Once inside, it was the most advanced facility he had ever seen. He thought about Charlie's lab back in the day: A few test tubes, Bunsen burners, a fridge and a few pieces of scientific equipment couldn't begin to compare to this state of the art facility. Packed with computer monitors and equipment, it looked like mission control for a journey to Mars.

Dr. Lewis was in his late 50's and nothing like what Steve thought of when he thought "scientist." He was bald, tan and exceptionally fit. He looked like he spent a good part of his free time in the gym. One thing that met Steve's expectation was his level of concentration. Not unlike Charlie in the old days, he failed to notice their arrival.

Steve's escort cleared his throat dramatically before the Dr. Lewis looked up from his computer screen.

"Dr. Keller, I presume."

"Isn't that Dr. Livingston?" Steve couldn't help himself. "And please can we dispense with the Dr. business. The name is Steve."

""I totally agree. You can't swing a dead cat in here without hitting a Doctor. Please call me Matt."

Pleasantries complete, Dr. Lewis got right down to business.

"Well, we were very lucky. I have your results right here." He opened three windows on the computer. "It took a bit of doing, but we managed to get genetic material from all three samples."

"That's amazing!"

"Not really. We've gotten results from much older samples. It all depend on how they were stored. First is the hair. I was a little skeptical of this because it was in a necklace. Hair is very temperature sensitive. We usually have better luck with corpses, temperature is usually cool and consistent underground and we have the root. But because your sample was sealed in the locket, and spent most of its life in storage, it was in pretty good shape."

"I assume it was a clipping, how can you get DNA if you don't have the root?"

"Some of the newest research has proven to be very effective on hair shafts. But because it's new, it took a lot longer to process. The other samples were easy by comparison. Blood and skin/blood cells are our bread and butter so to speak."

"So what am I looking?"

"Well, first," He circles several blobs on the 1st and 2nd charts, "I can tell that these two individuals are mother and daughter."

"I'll take your word for it." Steve had a vague idea of what he was looking at. "We kind of assumed that, but it's good to know. How does that help us?"

"Hang on, that's not even the interesting part." He circled several more blobs with a different color on the 1st and 3rd charts. "The hair also has characteristics in common with the DNA from the scraping under your victims nails."

"The Father?"

"I'd testify to it in court."

"So what do we do now, we don't have anything to compare it to."

"Maybe, maybe not. I assume you are trying to identify the vic. If we presume the child who belongs to this hair lived to adulthood, we might find her in the system. If we also presume that that person reproduced, we can look for the next generation. It's a slow process. That stuff you see on TV is our biggest nightmare. Even with modern computer searches, it can take upwards of six months to get a hit."

"That's a lot of assumes and presumes. Plus just because she scratched him, doesn't mean he pulled the trigger." Steve had gotten exactly the results he wanted, he was sure Mikhail murdered Irina, the evidence was persuasive, but he was still a long ways from putting this to bed. Disappointment was clear on his face.

"Hey, don't give up. The fact that we had three viable sample is a miracle. You have connected A to B to C. We have access to the most extensive network of databases in the world. If there's a match, we will find it. Your answer may still be out there but it will take time."


	19. Chapter 19

After dinner, Steve went back to his hotel. All along he had been thinking the DNA would be the answer, but it was really just a launchpad for more questions. Mikhail had definitely found Irina. The DNA proved that, but did he kill her? They needed more.

The murder weapon was never found, but they also never had a viable suspect. He mused about how long gun records went back and made a note to put Catherine onto the California Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco an Firearms office in San Francisco. If anybody could find an arcane record, she could. She was scary good at things like that.

He looked at the clock. It was past ten eastern time, past seven at home. He dialed her cell.

"Hey Doc, I'm so glad you called. I have an idea."

"Hello to you too. What, no small talk? As it turns out, I have one, too."

"One that you can talk about over the phone?"

"Um, yes. Don't go there, I'm three thousand miles away."

Catherine laughed, "You go first."

"Nope, ladies first."

"I usually don't believe in that bull crap, but this is pretty exciting. So I was thinking, even if we get good DNA results..."

"Which we did."

"WHAT?"

"Continue, I want to hear your idea first."

"OK, so even if we get DNA, we don't have a murder weapon. You guys didn't have a real suspect back in the day, but now we do. I checked the case notes, she was killed with a .22 right?"

"Yep." Steve couldn't believe where she was going. It was like she was reading his mind.

"Well if we could find out if Petrovic owned a .22 back in the day, well, we might be another step closer to solving this."

"I could kiss you right now…"

"Um, three thousand miles away, Doc."

"No, not like that, well, um, yes like that but, I had the exact same thought. The California BATF has an office in San Francisco. Their database in no great shakes, but who knows. I found Cameron Miller on Facebook. I think the universe or karma or whatever wants this case to be solved."

"I'm on it. So tell me about the DNA."

"Lewis was able to get results on all the samples."

"No kidding, that's incredible."

"Even more incredible, The scrapings under her nails matched the hair, too. Irina scratched Mikhail. Dr. Lewis said he would swear to it in court."

Steve could hear her excitement on the phone.

"So, Mikhail found out where Irina was hiding?"

"Yep. Unfortunately, it doesn't prove anything and…"

"There is always an  _and_ , go ahead." He could hear her voice deflate like a balloon.

"It could take six months for the computer to search all the databases the FBI has available."

"Did I hear you right, six months?"

"Uh huh. Hey, don't get discouraged. We made a huge leap forward today. When I get back, we're going to Vegas to talk to the retired agent. Maybe he'll have something for us. And think about the other leads you found in Russia and the Church. It might take a little longer than we thought, but we are going to solve this."

Catherine's voice picked up a little of its lost enthusiasm, "You're right. I'm gonna call BATF tomorrow. You think they will talk to me?"

"All you can do is ask. Since the records are so old, they might. I also have to call Paul at SFPD and see if they are ready to open this back up."

"If that happens we have to back off, right?"

"I'm afraid so, but I'm sure he'll keep us in the loop."

"What time is it there?"

"Going on 11pm. I'm beat. I'll see you tomorrow. My speech is first thing in the morning. They ponied up for a direct flight to San Francisco, so I should be back at the house by seven-seven thirty. Will you be there when I get home?"

"With bells on. Good luck on your speech"

"Thank you and frankly, I'd rather see you with nothing on but I'll take bells, could be interesting."

"Three thousand miles, Steve."

"Goodnight to you, too."

Steve hung up the phone with a smile on his face and slept better than average, even in the hotel. They had made a lot of progress today. He also had someone at home waiting for him, someone who loved him.

00000

He used the time waiting for his flight to make some phone calls. Paul Farrell was first on the list. He left a message about the DNA results. He was looking through his notebook and found his contact with ATF. He dialed the phone, thinking that maybe the federal agent could exert a little influence with his California counterpart. After two rings, there was an answer on the other end.

"Silving. What can I do for you?"

"Marc, This is Steve, um Dr. Keller. How are you?"

"This is a surprise. It's been a long time."

"Yes, too long. Hey I was wondering if you could do me a favor?"

"Sure, what do you need."

Steve laid out the details of the investigation.

"Interesting. So you need access to gun records from 40 years ago. Good luck. The data from then is dodgy at best."

"I know, but we have to try. You got any contacts in California you can lean on."

"I might. I'll have to call you back. Do me a favor, don't contact them until I do. They don't take too kindly to civilians meddling in gun records. Gun registration is a real hot button topic right now, particularly in California."

"I hear you. I'll call Catherine an let her know to hold off."

"Catherine Wyland? She still working at Berkeley?"

"Yep. She's helping me out on this."

"Tell her I said hello. You know we went out on a couple of times back in the day, after I graduated of course. Too bad about her knee. She would have been great investigator."

"I agree. I'll do that."

"Good luck, Doc. Let me know how it turns out. We should have a beer the next time you're in town."

"Will do and thanks."

He texted Catherine as soon as he got off the phone, telling her to hold off calling California BATF, just before he had to turn off the phone for takeoff.

00000

With flight delays and traffic around SFO it was almost 9 pm when the cab pulled up to Steve's Grizzly Peak home. It was nice to come back to a house with the lights on. Steve paid the cab driver and was surprised to see an extra car in the driveway.

He opened the door and was assaulted by his 8 and 10 year old granddaughters.

"Pop-Pop!" they crooned together as they shared an affectionate group hug. Did you bring us anything from Washington?

Steve dragged them into the living room, each one clutching a leg, where Catherine and Alice where having a drink.

"This looks like trouble, whats up?" Steve asked after extricating himself from the girls.

"We were driving home from dance class and the girls wanted to surprise you. The lights were on, so we stopped.  _Boy were we surprised."_ Alice added the last bit after the girls ran into the kitchen.

Catherine had a bemused look on her face. Even though she had met Steve's kids and grandkids, it was kind of an out of sight, out of mind thing. He just never came off as been that old."

"Welcome home. We've had quite an evening, Pop-Pop." Catherine could barely contain a giggle as the words left her lips. "Dana and Emma have been entertaining us with some really great stories about their Pop-Pop's girl friends."

"Thanks, Alice." Steve deadpanned to his daughter.

"No sweat, Dad. Least I could do. By the way, they approve and so do I. It's about time."

"Well, now that that's out of the way..." Catherine got up and poured Steve a glass of wine and refilled her own glass.

Alice demurred. "I gotta drive those two monkeys home."

"How was your flight?" Catherine asked.

"Miserable. Flying used to be so cool, now it's like a Greyhound bus with wings, only a little less comfortable." He sat down next to Catherine.

"So, Catherine tells me you two are investigating a cold case. You're not thinking about getting back into the biz, are you? Uncle Mike's been gone a long time and you're no spring chicken either. I thought you were gonna relax a little when you retired?"

"It's not like that. It's just, when I found out Mike was still bothered by this case, well, I couldn't let it go. We're actually writing a book about it."

"Not we, him. I'm strictly a research assistant."

Steve took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "I wouldn't say that."

Catherine smiled back at Steve. Alice took it as her cue to leave.

"Well, I better get those two home," she said before calling the girls.

Steve got up and walked them out the door. He hugged Dana and Emma before they got in the car.

"Bye, Pop-Pop. We like Catherine, she's fun."

"Bye, girls. Love you."

Steve gave Alice a hug.

"I'm really happy for you, Dad. I've always liked Catherine and I think she's good for you, even though she's only a little bit older than me. Do me a favor, don't screw it up this time, OK?"

"Who me?" He said incredulously.

"Yeah, you. Take care of yourself and bring her around for dinner some Sunday. I can't wait to call Jeannette."

"I will, I promise. And please, let me tell your sister when I'm ready, you know how she is."

"OK, just don't wait too long, she will be more pissed off at you than she normally is." They hugged again before she got in the car and pulled out.

Steve walked slowly back into the house. When he got back inside, Catherine had not moved from the sofa.

"So you've gotten the approval of the terrible twosome. That's high praise indeed." Steve flopped down next to her, exhausted from his whirlwind trip.

"Seems so, Pop-Pop." Catherine giggled again.

"Pop-Pop, hun?" He leaned over and pulled her close, kissing her as if he'd been gone for months, not days.


	20. Chapter 20

The next several months saw very little progress in the case. Steve's first semester of retirement was is the books and Christmas was imminent. True to his word, Marc Silving had gotten Steve and Catherine access to California BATF data, but it was a total bust. There were so many holes in the records. The more they looked, the more frustrated they became. He finally called a halt to the search, much to Catherine's annoyance.

The SFPD decided that the case wasn't worth reopening, even with the DNA evidence. Paul could barely keep up with current cases, let alone cold cases. Steve was secretly happy about that, he wanted to unravel the mystery for Mike, for Catherine and for himself.

The worst blow was their scheduled interview in Las Vegas with the retired FBI agent. They were all set to go for a weekend in September when they got the call. Their contact had had a stroke. If he recovered, it would be quite some time before they could speak with him.

Steve kept writing. He finished the chapters about the original investigation. It made him happy to write about his time with Mike. It occurred to him that several of their old cases would make dynamite reads. It was certainly something to think about. He also finished the chapters that dealt with Cameron and Irina's relationship after several more meetings with the Bay Area artist.

The research into Irina's childhood would have to wait until they had a solution to the mystery. Neither he or Catherine had the resources for an extended trip to Russia. Steve had a comfortable retirement income, but right now, a trip halfway across the world was out of the question. They were trying to find a way to interview the Orthodox cleric Catherine had contacted in New York, but as of yet they were unable to make it happen.

Steve kept busy with speaking engagements and completing the chapters for his final text on Criminology. He was worried about Catherine, however.

Her job at Berkeley had gone from bad to worse. Benson was really a bastard. She was pretty sure he knew about her relationship with Steve and was finding ways to make her miserable because of it. He was also taking great pains to remake the department in his own image, trying desperately to taint Steve's legacy at the University.

Without the distraction of the investigation, by the end of the semester, she had become sullen and depressed. Not with Steve, their relationship was stronger than ever, but she found it very hard to put on a happy face and go to work every day. He was in the process of planning a surprise for their six month anniversary when Catherine came through the door.

He could tell by the slump of her shoulders it had been another of those days.

"Which trail do you want to do tonight?" They had begun walking each evening as a healthier alternative to adult beverages after work to decompress.

"I don't care, you pick." Catherine went into the bedroom and changed into sweats and sneakers.

He chose the Seaview Trail in nearby Tilden Park. It was less than fifteen minutes away and although it was short at 3.6 miles, it was difficult enough in elevation gain to break a sweat. It also had, in certain sections, spectacular views of San Francisco and the Bay.

They drove to the park and walked almost twenty minutes before she was in a fit state to talk. He waited patiently until she was ready. As much as he wanted to talk her down, he had learned after several shouting matches and a few days of not speaking at all, not to try and help her forget her day until she was ready.

"He's trying to get the department to use different books next semester."

"Well that is his right." Steve knew that would get her going, but it would also help her vent and return to her normal, even tempered self. He prepared himself for the storm.

"I KNOW IT'S HIS RIGHT." Several birds took flight as she yelled. "He wants them to use his publisher, exclusively. Their rep was in today, took him out for a fancy lunch. When he came back, he had me type a memo ordering that all books would be order from them."

"He's not going to give the staff a choice?"

"Nope and I'm pretty sure quite a bit of money changed hands. Benson looked very pleased with himself when he came back to the office."

"That sucks on multiple levels. Everybody will have to write new curriculum if they change books. There will be a revolt." Steve didn't add how much it could hurt his pocketbook if Berkeley stopped using his books, especially the newest one. That didn't stop Catherine.

"He's a lying tyrant. He knows how that will hurt you financially, I think that's part of his plan and if it helps his pocket book, so much the better. When anybody even says anything nice about you, he goes nuts. He's so vindictive, you should see his twitter account, it's like he doesn't even think before he puts stuff out there."

"Save me from twitter, please. I don't even want to hear about it. Doesn't anybody in the next pay grade see what's going on? Taking kickbacks from publishers is illegal."

"Who knows what they think in the ivory tower? I feel bad because it's the staff and students who will ultimately suffer if the department loses continuity."

They were both quiet for several minutes as they traversed a difficult section of the trail. They came to the halfway point and took a moment to look at the view, both huffing and puffing from exertion. It was about an hour till sunset, when the slanting early winter light turned amber. Steve took her hand as they peered out over the canyon to the bay.

"You know, you don't have to protect me. I'm secure enough to know the value of the contributions I've made over the years."

"I know, nobody will erase you from the narrative of Berkeley for a long time, but it's just so damn petty."

Steve paused to admire they way the light kissed her face. It caressed every line that life had left there and made her even more beautiful in his eyes. He brushed a stray curl from her face.

"I do feel bad about the students and the staff. Do you want me to make a call?"

"Only if I never go back. He'll know I told you."

"You know, if you sell or rent your place out and move in with me, maybe you don't need to go back. Then you'll have time to look for a new job."

This had been a sticking point for the last month. She was dragging her feet in making a decision. True, the domestic side of her life had never been better. This walk was proof of that. He knew her moods so well and she really loved and trusted him. She wasn't even worried about his age. It was just his history that gave her pause, even though he had not so much a glanced at another woman. The house was her safety net if things ever turned south. After today, however, the offer was very enticing.

Steve knew not to wait for an answer. She would make the decision when she was ready and not a moment before.

She leaned over and kissed him, "I'm not there yet, please be patient."

"For you, I'll wait. But can you decide before I'm dead?" Steve laughed and pushed her away. "Last one to the car makes dinner." He started off at a slow trot to get a head start.

"Not so fast old man!" She jogged as much as she could to catch up and pass him. "You know you cook better than I do, plus I worked all day, what did you do?" She was also laughing.

They got back to the car in record time, Catherine beating Steve by several paces. She leaned against the car panting. He joined her, bent over from exertion.

"What's for dinner?" she said gleefully when she had enough breath to talk.

"Oh shut up, I have almost thirty years on you."

Just then his cell phone sounded with the opening chords of Steppenwolf's "Born to be Wild." The girls had gotten ahold of his cell phone again. On the bright side, at least they had good taste in music.  _Way to raise 'em, Alice._

"Hello." He gasped into the phone. He threw the keys to Catherine so she could drive them home while he took the call.

"Hello. Steve. This is Marc Silving. Are you ok?"

"Yeah fine, just finished getting my butt whipped on a trail walk." Catherine smirked in his direction. "How's it going?"

"Good, very good."

"What can I do for you?"

"I think it's more a question of what I can do for you. Did you ever make any progress on the weapon from that cold case you were investigating?"

"No. Like you thought, it was a dead end. We gave up after about a month of searching. Why?"

"Remind me of the name of your suspect."

"Petrovic, Mikhail. Daughter's name was Eva."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. I was going through some old weapons trafficking case files, compiling statistics, and I came across that name."

"In reference to what?"

"That's the problem. Other than the name, there was nothing.'

"Nothing? What does that mean?"

"In my experience, it means someone was placed in witness protection."

"Really. No wonder we could never find him. Is that a normal thing? I thought that was more of the FBI's bailiwick."

"Yeah it is. Might have been a joint operation. Didn't you say you were going to talk to an FBI agent from back in the day?"

"We were scheduled, but he had a medical emergency. We haven't been able to see him yet."

"Well, all I'm saying is maybe you should."

"Thanks for the heads up man."

"You got it, Doc. Let me know how it turns out."

When Catherine heard Petrovic's name her ears perked up, "Something new on the case?"

"Maybe. We really need to talk to the FBI."

00000

Catherine turned on the Christmas lights before she got in the shower. Steve went to the kitchen and took out the chicken he had marinating before going to the patio and lighting the grill. The race had been an idle threat. After 6 month together, he knew not to count on her culinary creativity at the last minute.

While he was waiting for the grill to heat up he listened to his voicemail. Alice had called confirming the time for dinner on Christmas Day. He guessed he had better wrap the grandkids presents at some point. Jeannette and her family were coming, too. Two boxed set of Harry Potter novels, Amazon gift cards and wrapping paper sat idle on the dining room table.

Looking beyond the table, he saw the tree Catherine had insisted on. He hadn't put one up since Mike died. Mike had always been such a big kid about Christmas. He still remembered the gleam in his eyes when they unwrapped the old ornaments at De Haro Street that last year. It didn't matter how sick he was, the tree was non negotiable.

Under the tree was the Nativity Scene that Jeannie had given him. He tried to refuse it. It had been Mike and Helen's, but she had gotten her own when she married Jim. Her only request was that when he passed, it be given to one of her kids.

His walk down memory lane was interrupted when Catherine hugged him from behind. Hair still wet from the shower, she was wrapped in his flannel bathrobe.

"You must be a million miles away if I can sneak up on you like that."

"I was thinking about Mike. He loved Christmas."

"You should have told me the decorations made you sad, we could have done without."

"No, it's fine. I'm happy you did. It's nice to remember. By the way, Alice called, dinners at three. You're sure about this?"

"About what?"

"Christmas with the crew. It will be really loud and exhausting. We can go away early, if you like."

"Oh no, you don't get out of it that easy, Pop-Pop."

"Just let me know, honestly, I don't mind skipping it."

"Right. Alice warned me that you would try to back out. No dice mister. I'm tasked with making sure you turn up at the appointed time."

"So now you are in league them? Jeez, I'm doomed."

He broke free of her embrace. "Let me put dinner on the grill. Do me a favor, see if you can find the number for our FBI agent in Vegas. Maybe you can sweet talk his wife into letting us meet with him. He's gotta be better by now. It's been months."


	21. Chapter 21

Christmas came and went. Catherine and Steve had decided to forgo presents, having rescheduled their earlier trip to Vegas as getaway instead. As it turned out, the trip became part holiday, part fact finding. They had finally gotten the ok to speak to retired FBI agent Dick White from his overprotective wife.

Steve threw their bags in the trunk.

"You want to drive first?" He asked Catherine as she walked down the drive.

"Nah, you start. I'll take over when you get tired."

This was a big change for Steve. When he was younger, he had never willingly given up the wheel. Now, he found he got tired and distracted a lot more easily. While he still would rather drive, he saw the wisdom of letting Catherine drive now and again.

They took the 580 south, through San Leandro and out to the high desert. They picked up 5 outside of Modesto and followed it to Bakersfield, where they stopped for lunch. After a quick bite they changed drivers and opted to stay on the interstate rather than the more scenic Rt. 99. They cut across 40 to Barstow, picking up Interstate 15, which led right to the Strip in Las Vegas. The trip in total took just a shade over 8 hours.

While they drove they discussed the case, the book, her job, the grandkids and how they were going to approach Agent White. For a lot of the time, they drove in a comfortable silence. Steve found the situation illuminating.

In the past when he drove with any woman, even his wife, he or his counterpart felt the need to fill the the dead air with idle chat. Silence was unnerving. With Catherine, it was different. Neither of them felt compelled to talk and the quiet never felt awkward. They could simply be, together. That, to him was a very comforting place.

Both Steve and Catherine were sore and tired when the arrived at the Hilton. It was a little before 5 in the afternoon and they decided to take a walk to stretch their cramped muscles. It had been a long time since either of them had been here and the town had changed dramatically.

Most of the Hotel/Casinos on the Strip had be become huge resorts. It was crowded, noisy and garish. Steve now remembered why he never came here. Catherine agreed. If they hadn't already paid for the room, she would rather be anyplace but Vegas.

Sleep was elusive for Steve that night. He got out of bed and stepped onto the balcony, staring at the neon lit spectacle before him. He felt like he was on the edge of something. The case seemed to finally be moving forward, but he didn't think the potential end of the investigation was keeping him awake. It was something bigger.

As much as he had feared retirement, he was actually enjoying the time it gave him. Time to write, time to read and time to think. He had spent so much of his life in reactive mode, simply responding to stimuli, living crisis to crisis. He never really had the time to ponder. It was a shame younger people never had time. He thought that perhaps the world would be a better place if everyone had the luxury of time to just breathe. On the other hand, he probably would have wasted the opportunity in his youth.

One of the things he had been pondering was the passage of time. Very soon, he and Catherine were going to have to make a decision. Six months. He hadn't been with anyone for six months in a lot of years. Right now, he couldn't see his life without her in it, but what would happen next year and the year after.

Some kind of commitment was in order, particularly in light of their age difference. She would most certainly outlive him and if they were going to be together, why not make it official, it would make the future a lot simpler for her. He wasn't sure he wanted to marry again and if he asked her, he wasn't sure she would say yes. She deserved someone she could grow old with and he just wasn't that person. He really needed Mike right now. Even past 70, he craved the sage advice of his best friend.

He heard the glass sliding door open. Catherine slipped out and shut the door behind her.

"Can't sleep?"

"Nope. Can't turn my brain off. Did I wake you?"

"No. I woke up and didn't see you, I figured you hadn't gone far. Anything you want to share with the class?"

Steve got up and wrapped his arms around her, breathing in her scent. "No, not right now. Come back to bed, we have a big day tomorrow."

Catherine laid awake for along time after they got back in bed. She had the feeling Steve had some sort of epiphany out on the balcony, a decision he didn't care to share with her. She stared at the ceiling listening to his gentle snores, hopeful that whatever the decision was, it included her.

00000

It was early afternoon before they drove to Summerlin, a residential planned community west of Las Vegas. Catherine was reading from her phone.

"The name of the place is Trilogy. I think it's some kind of retirement community. It's out near Red Rocks. Hey, it's a 55 and older deal, you could get a place here."

"Thanks, I needed that reminder right now."

"Your welcome." She grinned and dropped her phone in her bag."

"When we get there, you are going to let me do the talking, right? Not like that first night with Miller."

"Hey, that wasn't my fault. You didn't say anything. I was just picking up the slack."

"Yeah, right. I was still in a state of shock over what you said in the car."

"Well, that won't happen again. You already know I've been lusting after you for years." She grinned and squeezed his arm. Catherine's nighttime bout of insecurity had been erased by a champagne breakfast in bed, followed by  _dessert_  in the ensuite jacuzzi. She would never look at a bathtub the same way again.

00000

It was about 25 minutes until they pulled up at the White residence.

Mrs. White led them to the sun porch in the back of the house, turned and went back inside. Dick White looked to be about 80 years old. He appeared to be napping, but when they came abreast of the patio chair, he opened his eyes. An oxygen cannula was strapped under his nose and a walker sat by the wicker chair.

"Mr. White, I am Steve Keller, This is Catherine Wyland. We spoke to you before your stroke. Do you remember?"

He nodded his head.

"Good. Well, the reason we are here is to ask you a few questions about your time in San Francisco in 1972."

He nodded again. Steve started to worry, Agent White had yet to say a word.

His wife came in with 4 glasses of lemonade and sat down in the chair next to her husband. He gave her a lopsided smiled when she took his hand.

"He really hasn't been able to talk since the stroke. It's getting better with therapy. We're very hopeful."

"Not to be rude, but why didn't you tell me this on the phone?" Catherine was just as shocked as Steve.

"Well dear, you seemed so insistent, and he is in there. He just can't talk."

Mr. White squeezed her hand affectionately.

Steve and Catherine looked at each other. "Now what?" She mouthed to him.

"Lie detector." He mouthed back. She shrugged in confusion.

"Mr. White, I know you are familiar with polygraph tests. What I'm going to do is ask you yes and no questions, just like in the test. Just nod for yes and keep your head still for no. Can you do that for me?"

He nodded his head.

The interview had just become an order of magnitude more difficult. Steve opened his notes.

"Ok let's begin. Did you work on a joint mission with ATF in San Francisco in 1972?"

A nod yes.

"Good. Next, do you recognize the name Mikhail Petrovic. He nodded his head again. Catherine breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe this wasn't a waste of time.

"Was he involved with the Russian Mob in San Francisco in 1972?"

Another nod, this might work.

Using Marc's ATF lead he asked, "Was he involved in weapons trafficking?" White nodded again. Steve was on a roll. Before he got to the question of witness protection, he brought Irina into the mix by pulling out her picture.

"Do you recognize this woman?" White indicated yes. Now it got dicy. Steve needed to make sure he didn't shut down before the most important questions.

"Were Petrovic and his daughter placed in protective custody?"

It appeared he was thinking this one over. He finally dipped his chin.

"Where are they? Catherine blurted out. Steve turned to shush her, "Easy tiger, yes or no."

Catherine blushed. "Sorry." she whispered.

Steve rephrased the question. "Do you know where?"

Again White took a long time to respond. Steve didn't know if it was fatigue, or an unwillingness to answer. He ultimately indicated yes.

"Can you tell us where?" Steve was pretty sure what the answer would be. Whites head never moved.

He changed gears, "Did you know Mikhail's wife was murdered?" Nod.

Finally Steve asked the money question. "Did ATF and the FBI know that Mikhail Petrovic murdered his wife?"

The silence on the porch became a physical presence. Agent White remained stationary, but a single tear trailed down his face. It was all the response Steve and Catherine needed.

00000

There were so many more questions they wanted to ask, but Mrs. White called a halt to the interview. Steve knew none of this would ever hold up in court, if it ever got that far, so he didn't put up much of an argument as she ushered them to the door.

They drove back to Las Vegas in silence. They now knew the answer, but they were at a dead end. Neither one of them wanted to spend another night in Sin city, so they grabbed their things and checked out. Steve took the first driving shift.

"Why didn't you try to ask him more questions?" Catherine asked.

"It would have been pointless. None of this is admissible in court. I can just hear a defense lawyer objecting about leading the witness, and he or she would be correct."

"I guess so. What about the FBI, can we petition to see the records of the case?"

"We can try, but I think they would look a lot like ATF's records, a name and a blank. All the details have probably been redacted. Neither agency will want to admit to hiding a murderer, at least not on paper"

"Why would they do something like that, let a murderer walk free."

"Who knows, might have been the intel he provided was incredibly valuable. It could also be that the murder happened after they struck a deal, but before they relocated him, who knows. Some seriously messed-up shit happened back in the day in the name of expedience and justice."

"Well, I think it stinks. No wonder you and Mike couldn't figure it out. How can you win the game when you haven't been given the full deck?"


	22. Chapter 22

An overturned tractor trailer on Rt. 5 extended their 8 hour trip to 12 hours. It was after two am when they finally pulled in the driveway. Road weary did not begin to cover their exhaustion from the overlong drive. They dropped their bags in the foyer. Both had every intention of heading straight to bed, but Steve was distracted by the blinking light of the answering machine on the table in the hall.

He hardly ever got messages on the landline anymore, mostly relying on his cell phone. He didn't even know why he kept it, other than out of habit. When he went over to the phone, a small number 4 winked on and off.

Steve hit the play button. Calls 1-3 were robocalls. He clicked through them without waiting to hear their sales pitch. When the fourth message started, he immediately recognized the voice of Dr. Matthias Lewis.

"Steve this is Matt from the Quantico Lab. I think I've got some news for you. I tried your cell, but it went straight to voicemail. Give me a call as soon as you get this."

He pulled his cell out of his pocket. Going through stretches of desert with limited or non-existent service had drained the battery completely. No wonder he never received the message. He put the phone on the charger and began to dial the landline, until he looked at the clock. 2 am local meant 5 am EST. He would have to wait several hours before he called the lab. With a potential lead on the horizon, sleep for him was out of the question.

Catherine had already gone up the stairs. She'd driven the bulk of the leg when they were sitting in traffic and was dead on her feet. Steve considered not telling her about the call, so that she could get some shut eye, but decided a tired Catherine was easier to deal with than an angry Catherine.

He trotted up the steps. Seeing her laying on the bed fully-clothed, sound asleep, made him change his mind. At least somebody would be semi well-rested tomorrow.

Steve made a cup of coffee, went out to the porch and lit a fire in the chiminea. He had at least 2 hours to kill before he could even consider calling the east coast.

00000

8 chapters of Churnow's biography of Alexander Hamilton later, the sun had started to creep above the horizon. Steve's calls to the lab went to voicemail at 4 am and 5 am PST. Even as excited as he was, he could barely focus on his book through sleep filled eyes by 6 am. He re-entered the house, grabbed more coffee and his cell phone before going back outside and placing the call.

"Lewis speaking, how can I help you?"

"Dr. Lewis, Matt, This is Steve Keller returning your call. What have you got for me?"

"Steve, you're up with the birds this morning. I just got to my desk from our 8 o'clock briefing."

"It's a long story. You got search results?"

"Well low and behold the computer finally spit out a name yesterday from of all places, the AFRSSIR database."

"AFRSSIR database? I don't think I know that one."

"Armed Forces Repository of Specimen Samples for the Identification of Remains. They started collecting DNA during the Gulf War, to help ID casualties. We had exhausted all our other options, so I figured what the heck. Since your suspect couldn't be in the database, just a familial match to the victim, I didn't see any conflict and we got a hit. Staff Sergeant Maureen Fanelli, 23. she's stationed at Nellis Air Force Base." "You're kidding me, we literally just got back from Vegas 4 hours ago."

"Really?. She's with the 547th Intelligence Squadron. According to the computer, there is a 96 percent chance she is the daughter of the woman whose hair was in the locket, the granddaughter of your Jane Doe and the man she scratched. That's a slam dunk in the DNA biz."

"Unbelievable. You did it, doc. We have positive ID on the vic, by the way. Her name was Irina Petrovic. The husband was Mikhail and Maureen's mother's name is Eva. I also have it on good authority that Mikhail pulled the trigger."

"Hold up in court good authority?"

"Not quite, but if Maureen knows where her grandfather is, well that could put a bow on it. I don't know how to thank you, this is amazing."

"No sweat, just remember when you talk to the papers after you solve a forty year old case, it's Matthias with two "t"s."

"I can do better than that, you are going to be a whole chapter in the book."

00000

Steve made sure the fire in the chiminea was extinguished and went into the house. He didn't want to wake up Catherine at 6:30 am but he was so wired, he had to do something. He sat down at his desk and turned on the computer, looking for contact information on Maureen Fanelli. He found the squadron's office number on the Nellis AFB website. The meet with her would have to be handled carefully. If she had a close relationship with her grandfather, the news that he had murdered her grandmother would be traumatic. She probably wouldn't tell them where he was. Hell, he might not even be alive.

He thought about the locket. It might be the key they needed to open up SSgt. Fanelli. He searched around on his desk. The Fed Ex package was buried under several unread newspapers. He had been meaning to take it back to to Inspector Farrell at SFPD, but hadn't gotten around to it yet. He'd have to get the ok to return it to next of kin.

It wasn't even 7:00 yet. More waiting. He went to foyer and grabbed his sneakers, thinking that a walk would burn off some nervous energy and too much caffeine. When he got back around 8, he called SFPD to get the ok and Nellis AFB to set up the meet. Steve then started breakfast, knowing that there was nothing better than the smell of bacon to wake his sleeping beauty.

Catherine stumbled down the steps. She looked like a train wreck in rumpled yoga pants and a tee shirt. He held out a cup of coffee.

"You got up early." She yawned and took a sip.

"Um, haven't been to bed yet. Dr. Lewis called."

"And you didn't wake me?" He could hear a little ire in her voice.

"You were out cold. I finally returned his call a couple of hours ago. We have a name?"

Catherine was now wide awake. "No kidding?"

"No kidding. We have Irina's granddaughter's name. She's in the Air Force, stationed at Nellis."

"But we were just there, in Vegas. You mean we gotta drive back?"

"Not this time. I booked a fight. Don't even bother to unpack your bag. We leave in 3 hours."

00000

They made it to their flight with only moments to spare. It was a cheapo fair flight on Frontier Air, but at only 1 hour and 40 minutes, it was bearable. Steve's energy reserves were flagging after a sleepless night. He dozed fitfully on the plane.

They picked up a rental car and drove to the La Quinta Inn outside the front gate of Nellis Air Force Base. Steve had been intentionally vague on the phone with Maureen. When he had mentioned he had some jewelry that belonged to her grandmother, she agreed to meet them at a diner just off base when she got off work.

Steve flopped on the bed at the budget motel. All the adrenalin he felt early in the day was long gone. Catherine looked at her watch. They still had a few hours before their meet with Maureen.

"Why don't you take a nap, you must be beat."

"I'd love to, but I just can't relax."

"Let's go out and sit by the pool, maybe that'll help."

Normally it was a bit too chilly to sit by the pool in Las Vegas in January. But a warm front had inched the temperature up close to 70. The steam from the heated pool, the warm afternoon sun and Catherine's comfortable shoulder helped Steve drifted off.

00000

When Maureen Fanelli walked into the diner, there was no question that the DNA results had been correct. She was her grandmother's twin. Even dressed in her blue uniform coat and skirt and dark hair pulled into a tight bun, the resemblance was startling. Steve stood up and waved her over to their table.

"SSgt. Fanelli, thank you for coming to meet us. We really appreciate it. Can we get something for you?"

She undid her jacket and put her cover on the table. "Unsweetened Ice tea, thanks. So what's this jewelry you have for me? Funny, grandma never told me about anything she had for me. I didn't even think she liked me."

Steve waited for the waitress to leave. "Before we get started, I have a question to ask you, how close are you to your grandfather?"

If Maureen thought it was an odd question, her expression didn't betray it. "That old bastard, no we're not close. He is an abusive brute and most of the time I try to forget I'm related to him. The last time I saw him was at my grandmother's funeral last year. You'd think if he had something for me from her, he would have given it to me then."

"Is your mother still alive?" Catherine interjected.

"Nah, she died when I was a kid and dad apparently didn't stick around when he found out mom was pregnant. Nick and grandma raised me from the time I was twelve until I graduated from high school and was old enough to get away. He was the reasons I joined the Air Force. The bitch is that they stationed me here and he's just on the other side of town."

Catherine looked at Steve with wide eyes. He smiled.

Maureen ignored the look and continued. "Now if you don't mind, why are you asking me all of these family questions. If you have something for me, let me have it, I'll finish my tea and get the hell out of here."

Steve nodded at Catherine and she pulled the copy of Irina's driver's license picture out of her bag.

"What's this?" Maureen said as she looked at the photo. "It looks like a picture of me, but it's really old. Who are you people?"

"I used to be a Homicide Inspector in San Francisco. I don't know an easy way to tell you this but, this is a picture of your biological grandmother. He name was Irina Petrovic and she was murdered in San Francisco in 1972."

"That's not possible. Connie Fanelli was my grandmother and she died of coronary artery disease last August. What are you trying to pull?"

"We're telling the truth," Catherine added in a sympathetic voice, "we don't have any agenda, other that trying to figure out who killed Irina and her unborn child. If you can give us half an hour, I think we can convince you that what we are saying is true. If not, we'll go." She pulled the locket out of her bag and put it on the table, "This was Irina's and I'm sure she would have wanted you to have it."

Maureen didn't know what to think, she picked up the locket with the "I" engraved on the front and held it up to the light. "Before I do anything, tell me one thing: why do you think she is my grandmother?"

Steve pulled up the DNA report Dr. Lewis had emailed him on his phone. He explained it to Maureen.

"Ok, that seems legit, but I'm going to need something a little stronger that ice tea to help me digest this. You guys don't strike me as ax murderers or anything, let's get out of here and go to my place."

00000

Maureen's apartment was only a few blocks away. Steve and Catherine picked up a 12 pack of Sam Adams at the Circle K next to the diner before they got in the car.

By the time she answered the door, Maureen had changed into jeans and a white t-shirt and let down her dark hair. Her resemblance to her grandmother was even more dramatic. In his mind's eye he could see Irina on the floor of Stella's bakery. They each grabbed a beer and sat down in her tidy living room.

"So let me get this straight, Grandma Connie wasn't Nicks first wife?"

"Nope. You call him Nick, not Grandpop? Any reason?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, he lost the right to that sobriquet when he started beating on me. I hated him so much, I would call him Nick just to piss him off."

"Some people never change." Catherine said to Steve quietly before they began the story.

For the next hour, Steve and Catherine laid out the details of Irina's tragic life and death.

Maureen, for the most part, sat in stunned silence.

"This whole thing is unbelievable, I mean, it sounds like a plot from some gothic novel or a soap opera."

"It does, doesn't it, " Catherine agreed as she passed out another round.

"So I'm really Maureen Petrovic, and you said my mom's name was Eva. It actually makes sense. I could never figure out where the Italian last name came from. Nick's accent is still as thick as a bad James Bond villain."

"His name used to be Mikhail."

"Of course it was. And the feds just let him get away with murder?"

"That's the way it looks."

"I tell you what, the one thing that isn't hard to believe is that he killed somebody. He has been a mean SOB for as long as I've been alive. He never beat on Connie, but I think that's because he had me and she would lie for him. You know I tried to run away a few times. I guess I'm kinda like my real grandmother."

They sat in silence for a few moments. Maureen opened the locket. While the hair had been removed, the small picture of her mother as a child remained. She looked at it sadly. "I wonder if mom ever knew that he killed her mother?"

"I can't answer that, and honestly I hope she was spared that horror. Now the question is: will you help up get justice for you grandmother?"

Maureen didn't hesitate. "Oh, hell yeah. What do you want me to do?"

00000

Steve and Catherine drove back to the LaQuinta Inn. In their wildest dreams, they'd have never guessed two days ago that they would have the street address of Irina's killer in their hands. Now the question was how to proceed.


	23. Chapter 23

The drive from Nellis to Pahrump, Nevada was just over an hour and a half. Mike's voice was like Jiminy Cricket in Steve's head, warning him about going into a situation without backup. He had tried, contacting the Nye County Sheriff to read them into the case. While they were interested, with 18,000 square miles to patrol in the county, they didn't have the manpower or the inclination to interview a suspect in a 40 year old murder.

He also called Inspector Farrell at SFPD to let him know about his intention to interview Mikhail Petrovic, but Paul's plate was full, and he couldn't possibly look at the case until next week. Steve had even notified ATF and the FBI of his discoveries, to tepid responses. Steve and Catherine were on their own.

They needed to try to talk to him now. Maureen said that old Nick usually went to Frostproof in central Florida from mid January thru April to escape the cold in the high desert. There was a chance he might not even be there.

Steve pulled the rental car off the fractured asphalt onto the dirt shoulder at 1000 4th St. South. It was on the outskirts of town, where the brush covered desert nibbled away at the edges of civilization. Although Pahrump was a large town with over 34,000 souls, this corner of it felt abandoned, like an old-west ghost town.

The single wide trailer had once been painted white with green trim, but the overall hue now was dust, with accents of corrosion. An 80's vintage Dodge K car sat mouldering in the carport next to a rusted cart, an escapee from a local supermaket. The only modern touch was a small Direct TV satellite dish attached to a post in the yard.

A cold breeze blew in from the desert as they got out of the car. Catherine pulled her coat tightly around her as they walked towards the door. Without the general din of human activity, the wind made a mournful noise as it whistled around the low lying structures. The grey overcast did little to improve the tableau.

"Not gonna lie, this gives me the creeps."

"As Mike would say, that's your gut talking."

Catherine peered over her sunglasses with a silent question.

"Your instinct. It's warning you that anything could happen out here at the end of world. On the street, your gut feelings help keep you alive. When you ignore them..." like he did once, all those years ago, "Well, that's what gets cops killed."

"You don't believe in that do you?"

"When I first went out onto the streets, not so much, but after a few years with Mike, you bet I believe it. He had the best instincts about situations and people of any cop I've ever seen. His gut feelings saved our butts more than once, back in the day."

"I'll take your word for it. What's your cop gut telling you?"

"This place gives me the creeps."

"Seriously?"

"It tells me we are out here in the middle of nowhere with no backup. If things get weird, well, just make sure have 911 on speed dial."

"We're just going to talk to an old guy. How dangerous can he be?"

"Um, how dangerous do you think I can be?" He gave her a suggestive smile and added, "We are probably the same age."

"Point taken." She put on her best training video voice, " Rule number one: Don't underestimate the old guy."

"Thank you, I think."

They both laughed. The last exchange had mitigated some of the apprehension they both felt. Steve knocked on the aluminum storm door. It took several bouts of pounding before a barrel-chested man with grey hair and a full beard opened the inner door.

"Whatever you are selling, I don't want it," The man bellowed in a deep voice colored by a thick Russian accent.

"We are not selling anything, we just have a few questions to ask you. You are Nick Fanelli..."

"I don't do surveys either, so get lost."

He was about to slam the door shut when Steve added, "or should I call you Mikhail?"

Petrovic's eyes widened at a name he hadn't heard in 40 years. "I don't know what you're talking about." he stammered. Steve followed Mikhail's gaze to a spot just inside the door.

Before Steve could stop her, Catherine continued with the script they had developed. "Oh, I think you do, Mr. Petrovic." She held up Irina's locket so it was easy to see in the midday light. "Now that we have your attention, do you want to talk out here or do you want to take this inside."

Petrovic slammed the door hard enough to rattle the side of the trailer. Catherine was just about to ask what they should do next when Steve pushed her off the small concrete stoop and dove off in the other direction, just ahead of the discharge of a 12 gage shotgun.

"STAY DOWN!" Steve shouted as he pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. He heard the "thunk" of another round being chambered through the hole blasted in the door, just a blink before the gun fired again. He had no idea how many rounds the thing held. If Petrovic came out the door, they were toast. He looked at his phone, thinking someone should have picked up by now, zero bars.

On Catherine's side of the stoop, the trailer was "landscaped" by some small mesquite scrub brush. If she stayed down, it would, in theory, give her enough cover to clear the side of the trailer, run to another house and hopefully a landline. Steve popped up and shouted, pointing emphatically in the direction of the bushes, away from the door. She nodded her head in dazed understanding. He dove back down again when the shotgun roared to life for a third time.

As she low crawled behind the brush, thorns pulled at Catherine's skin and clothes, leaving her scratched and bleeding. She had just cleared the corner of the mobile home when she heard Steve trying to draw Mikhail's attention.

"PETROVIC! THIS IS NOT HELPING YOUR CAUSE ANY. THE COPS ARE ALREADY ON THEIR WAY. GIVE IT UP, MAN."

"NYET! I WON'T GO TO JAIL BECAUSE OF SOME STUPID COW WHOSE BEEN DEAD FORTY YEARS. THE FBI SAID NO ONE WOULD EVER FIND ME."

She heard the storm door slam against the trailer. Catherine was terrified for Steve. As much as she wanted to go back and help him, her job was to find a phone. She heard the gun sound for a fourth time. Tears mixed with the blood on her face as she hammered on the door of the next trailer down.

00000

Steve breathed a sigh of relief when Catherine rounded the edge of the trailer. Time seemed to slow down. He didn't really care what happen now that she was out of danger. He'd give his life for her without blinking. It was suddenly clear to him, he loved her that much.  _I hope I get a chance to tell her_ , he thought as he pressed himself against the ground.

He shook his head at the ludicrousness of the situation. Two 70 plus year old men, one blasting away with a shotgun, the other crouching in the dirt. He wasn't afraid, he'd had a good life and Catherine was safe. He was just disappointed that he wouldn't have more time with her.

He asked himself why was Petrovic on such high alert, shotgun at the ready by the door. Just the mention of his true identity and the sight of an old locket had sent him into a murderous rage. Fear, perhaps. Maybe that was one of the reasons he was so mean. Living a life in fear might do that to a person. He heard what was left of the screen door slam. The time for reflection had expired.

00000

Catherine's frantic banging finally yielded results. An obese woman in a floral housecoat pulled the door open the width of a security chain. "Who's making all that racket out there? I'll call the cops if you don't knock it off."

"Please," Catherine babbled through hysterical tears. "That's exactly what I need you to do. Call the sheriff. I think someone had been shot." She tried not to picture Steve dead in the dirt next to the step.

"What did you say?" The old woman looked at Catherine through cataract-clouded eyes, "I don't hear too well."

"CALL 911!"

00000

From his position on the ground, Steve saw a foot appear on the stoop. He reached up and grabbed at Mikhail's leg in an attempt to trip the armed Russian. He aimed too high with his swipe. Instead of pitching forward, Petrovic toppled sideways off the stoop. The shotgun fired as the heavier man's bulk landed directly on top of Steve. He felt something pop in his shoulder.

After a stunned moment, fear and adrenaline brought Steve out of his stupor. His shoulder hurt like hell and his left ear had forgotten how to work. He was immobilized in the dirt by the dead weight of Mikhail Petrovic. His right arm would not answer the desperate call his brain was sending: to reach for control of the shotgun, which was pinned between them.

Petrovic seemed to also have been momentarily stunned by the fall. Steve hoped that the warm wetness he now felt on his upper body belonged to the Russian and not him. A tortured wail from the other man told him two things. The blood more than likely wasn't his and Mikhail was still in the game.

He desperately pushed with his left hand, trying to extricate himself. It slipped on a slick pulpy surface. Petrovic howled and rolled over on his own accord. Steve grabbed the shotgun with his good hand and got to his knees. He didn't think he could use the gun with one hand, but he could try and take it out of play.

He dragged the weapon towards the car. His shoulder screamed for attention. He assumed it was broken or dislocated or both. In that much pain, Steve wasn't going anywhere fast. Mikhail was still on the ground with his hands covering the bloody mess that was the right side of his face. The shot must have grazed him as he fell. Petrovic didn't appear to be in any position to challenge for the possession of the gun but Steve wasn't taking any chances.

With only one working hand, there was no way to brace a 12 gage if Steve needed to shoot. He had to find someway to support it. Dropping down to the ground, he sat with his back to the tire of the rental car, secured the shotgun under his left arm and shoved the butt against the sidewall. He pinned it against his knees in an upward trajectory, put his finger on the trigger and waited, praying Catherine had made the call.

00000

Catherine finally convinced the elderly woman to let her use the phone.

"911. Please tell me your name and address."

Catherine took a deep breath. "Catherine Wyland, 1000 4th Street South, Pahrump"

"Can you repeat that please." Catherine wanted to scream for the woman to quit wasting time, but she steadied her nerves and did as requested.

"What is the nature of your emergency."

"There has been a shooting!"

"Are you in a safe location?"

"Yes I am, but my…" she struggled with what to call him, "Steve is pinned down outside the house."

"Do you know what kind of weapon?"

"Shotgun."

Ma'am, I've contacted Nye County Sheriff, they have dispatched to your location. Are there any injuries."

"I'm not sure. I ran to make the call." There was an edge of panic in her voice.

"Stay calm Catherine, you did good. I'll send the EMTs and an ambulance, just in case. I need you to stay on the phone with me."

Catherine heard another shot and screamed. "There was just another shot." She wanted to run to Steve's aid.

"Are you still safe?"

"Yes, but he needs help."

"NO! Stay on the line. What is the age of the potential victim?"

"Um, 72. How long till somebody gets here?"

"It won't be long, please keep calm. You're only a few miles from Southern Area Command, you should hear sirens soon. You're did the right thing, just hang tight."


	24. Chapter 24

Three sheriff's cars roared around the corner with lights and sirens blaring. Catherine hung up the phone and tried to exit the trailer. The deputies shouted her back inside and crouched down

behind their vehicles, service revolvers drawn.".

"Lose the weapon and raise your hands."

"That could be a problem." He kicked the empty shotgun away. "The gun's empty, and until I see an orthopedist, this is the best I can do." Steve raised his left hand in the air.

"Doctor Keller, is that you?"

"Um, yeah. I could really use some help over here. Scene's safe, your shooter's on the walk."

The young Deputy holstered his gun and ran over to Steve. He waved his partner over to Petrovic, who was face down on the pavement.

The Deputy looked Steve. "What the hell happened here?"

00000

Steve was sitting on a gurney in the back of an ambulance before an insistent Catherine managed to get past the deputies.

She shrieked at the site of him, covered in blood.

"Breathe Catherine, it's not mine."

It took another few seconds before she saw past the blood to the sling on his arm. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you, but only if you sit down and let this nice young man take a look at those cuts and scratches, they look nasty."

Catherine glanced at her hands. She hadn't noticed it, but some of the cuts and punctures already looked swollen and festered.

She sat down next to Steve and let the paramedic look at the wounds.

"Looks like you crawled through a mess of mesquite, ma'am. Those thorns are brutal. I guess you will be riding in with us as well." He wiped the cuts with hydrogen peroxide and spread antibiotic cream on her hands and face. "The doc'll need to make sure none of the tips broke off under the skin and you'll probably need some antihistamines and antibiotics, but I think you'll live."

Steve looked at Catherine. "Looks like you got the worst of this little adventure." His eyes had started to droop from the painkillers the medic had administered and the adrenaline dump after the altercation.

"Whoa, not so fast mister. What happened to you?"

Steve regaled her with the end of his adventure, right up to the point before he pulled the trigger of the shotgun. He stopped when Deputy Holton came around the side of the ambulance.

"How they doing?"

"Your friend needs some x-rays and his shoulder will have to be set. The lady has to get those mesquite cuts checked, but they will both be ok."

"So Dr. K. and Catherine Wyland, crime fighting duo. It's still Wyland isn't it?" He'd seen how she'd fussed to get to see his former professor.

They looked at each other and said, "Yes!" in unison. Steve had a bemused look on his face.

After an awkward pause, Steve asked "How is Petrovic, will he live?"

"Yeah, the guns was loaded with birdshot and you just winged him, but you've got tell me how you managed to fire a 12 gage with one hand. That's quite a feat for a guy your size."

"I'd like to hear that too." Catherine chimed in.

Steve held his explanation. "Will there be any charges filed against me? I did shoot the guy."

"I doubt it, with the outward blast pattern on the door, it's pretty easy to see that he fired on you first. Plus with the arsenal we found in the house, we ought to be glad he hasn't killed anybody up to this point."

Catherine gave Steve a knowing look. "Did you find a .22?" He asked.

"Are you clairvoyant now, too? Yeah we did, an old one."

00000

Her cell phone vibrated in the back pocket of her golf skort. Jim was busy lining up a putt while she took a breather in the shade of the golf cart. Even though it was early morning, the temperature was well past eighty degrees. Early fall in the Valley of the Sun, it would probably be in the triple digits by 1.

"Hello."

"Hey babe, how's it going?" There was only one human being who called her babe.

"Hey stranger. How are you?" They hadn't spoken since that morning in the airport over a year ago.

"Good, really good. And you?

"I'm great. What's up?"

"Do I need an excuse to talk to an old friend?"

"Never. How is retirement treating you? It's been a year."

"Honestly, you were 100 percent right, I've never been happier."

"I'm so glad."

"So, I wanted to let you know we solved the case."

"The case?"

"Yeah, the cold case, the murder of Donna MIller."

"No kidding. Who did it?"

"Her husband. It's a long story, but it's a good one. That's part of the reason I called. The other is to see what you and Jim are doing next weekend. We're having kind of a get together at the Bellagio next Saturday night. We'd love for you and Jim to come."

"In Vegas?'

"Yeah, my publisher wanted to do a premier party in Vegas, because well, that's where it ended. The rooms are on Houghton-Mifflin. What do you say?"

"A book. Since when do they have signings for textbooks?"

"It's not a textbook, It's the story of the murder and the investigation. They think it's going to be a bestseller. Fox has already called us about movie rights."

"No kidding."

"No, kidding. And since Mike is featured prominently in the beginning, I thought you should be there."

Steve heard Jeannie call over to Jim, "You wanna go to Vegas next weekend?" He couldn't quite make out the response.

"Jim said sure, why not. I just have one question. Who is we?"

00000

Jeannie and Jim Parker walked into the lobby of the Bellagio. A small placard directed them to the Hyde Lounge. As they entered, they saw a display of books. A painting of a beautiful young woman graced the cover. Jim picked one up and read the title to his wife..

"Fate Shows You the Door" by Steve and Catherine Keller."

Jeannie smirked at her husband. "Steve and Catherine Keller! Someone's got some 'splainin to do."

They spied the couple standing near the bar. Steve, in a dark suit and tie, looked handsome and sophisticated. He had his arm around Catherine's waist. She was equally radiant in a shimmering gold sheath. Jeannie was struck by how happy they looked. A waiter offered them Champagne as they made their way across the room.

"Jeannie!" Steve broke away from his wife of 9 months and gave his oldest friend a hug. He seemed to remember himself and pulled away, shaking Jim's hand. "I'm so glad you both could come." He waved Catherine over and introduced her to Jim.

"So when did this all happen? And why weren't we invited?" Jeannie asked, feigning injured pride.

"No one was invited. Once I called 911 and Steve shot the bad guy…"

Jeannie and Jim looked wide eyed at Steve. He mouthed, "later."

"...he didn't want to waste anymore time, and I said yes. After he got his shoulder reset and the Ketamine wore off; we left the emergency room, drove right to the county clerk's office and got a marriage licence. I think the gal at the wedding chapel thought we were extras in a zombie movie or something, with all the blood and everything."

Steve rolled his eyes, "Read the book, all the gory details are in there."

"I guess I'm gonna have to." Jeannie grabbed both of their hands. "I had a feeling about you guys last year. You have no idea how happy I am."

"Thanks!" Catherine said as she got pulled off to the side by Dana and Emma. The famous Bellagio Fountains, which were visible through the window, had started their quarter-hourly show.

"So you did it huh? I never thought you'd get married again."

"Neither did I. But you know, I think Catherine is the one I've been looking for all along. We complete each other."

Jim pulled Jeannie close. "That's what it's all about man. Congratulations."

"Mike would have been so happy." Jeannie added. "You finally found the right one."

Steve added quietly, "I think he would have loved her as much as I do."

As if suddenly recalling something, he added, " Lemme see that." Steve put out his hand out and Jim passed him the book. He opened it up and handed it back to Jeannie. "Read the dedication."

"To Mike Stone" Her eyes misted over before she finished the first line.

**EPILOGUE**

Steve pulled the Lexus over to the curb **.** He got out of the car and walked down the row to the grave of his best friend. Reaching in his bag, he pulled out a copy of "Fate Shows You the Door" and placed it against the headstone. As he stood up, he rubbed his hands over the inscription and was silent for a long time.

"We did it Mike. After all this time, we found Donna's killer. Her name was Irina, but she will always be Donna to me. And you helped, Mike. The notes you left with Dr. Matthias' name. That's what broke it wide open." In his mind's eye, he saw Mike smile.

"That's not the most important thing, though. During the hunt for the killer, I found something even better." He paused, closed his eyes and smiled, "I finally found my Helen." He wipe a tear away with the back of his hand and walked back to the car.

__


End file.
